OUT OF CONTROL
by Chick Feed
Summary: Dean suffers a savage attack, why didn't he defend himself? Hurt Dean, angsty Sam & angry Bobby Case Fic. Follow on to "The Way of the Dead", can also be read as a stand alone story. Dedicated to Bryn, my sunshine boy. RIP.
1. Chapter 1

_A.N. I don't know where this is going. I _**do**_ know why I'm blatting it off. A week during which your house is broken into and irreplaceable links to you much loved dead father stolen; combined with having had to arrange for the vet to come to your home tomorrow to put to sleep your beloved dog, kind of leaves you needing a release._

* * *

**OUT OF CONTROL**

_Dean suffers a savage attack, why didn't he defend himself?_

The hits kept coming, blow after blow, rocking Dean backward until he hit the wall. Even then the assault didn't stop. The punches landing so close together that they were effectively keeping Dean upright against the wall long after Deans legs could no longer hold his weight. Finally, there was a respite, and Dean's battered body slid down the wall, coming to rest in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Dean's thoughts were a jumbled mess, no longer coherent, just a babble of _hurt, why,_ _no, stop, hurt, stop, please, what, can't, stop, hurt..._Until he finally went into shutdown.

Hands reached down, grasping the collar of Dean's shirt, yanking his head and shoulders up off the floor. Dean's head lolled back, bright fresh blood covering his face, one eye already swollen and a dark blue bruise forming, his jaw looked out of line, a deep gash ran parallel to an eyebrow. One hand let go of Dean's collar and slapped the unconscious hunter across the face. Dean's head rolled with the force of the hit, but his eyes remained closed and he made no sound. The other hand let go of Dean's collar, letting Dean drop back down to the concrete floor where he lay, unmoving. His attacker bent forward making a wet houghing sound at the back of his throat. A shimmering green globule of phlegm hit Dean in the face, sliding down across his cheek before hitting the floor with thick slop.

Stuffing his hands deep into his coat pockets, Dean's attacker strolled out of the alley way.

**xxx**

The persistent ache in Sam's bladder finally woke him up. Groaning, Sam tried shifting his position, hoping to be able to drift off again in his comfortable, warm bed. He managed a couple of minutes, then the nagging ache returned. With a sigh Sam threw back the bed covers and swung his legs out of bed. Eyes steadfastly closed, Sam staggered toward the motel room bathroom. He opened one eye just enough to position himself over the toilet bowl. Grasping himself in one hand he closed both eyes again as he urinated.

As unwanted wakefulness crept over him, Sam frowned. Something felt off to the sensitive skin of his penis. Flushing the toilet with his free hand, Sam half opened his eyes and looked down at himself. Both eyes flew open and he stared, trying to make some sense of what he saw. At first he felt overcome by panic at the sight of all the blood around his genitalia. Instantly he pulled his hand away. As he did, he noticed his knuckles and his breathing began to calm when he realised with relief that they were the source of the bleeding. Sam stared at his knuckles in puzzlement. Looking up into the mirror on the wall next to him, Sam gazed at the splatters of blood showing dark against the pale wax pallor of the skin on his face.

"What the fu…..?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

Reviews always appreciated if you have the time.

Chick


	2. Chapter 2

_A.N. Just to give everyone who has reviewed and/or is following this story a really _**BIG**_ thank you, especially as I started it yesterday just as a reaction to how crap I feel!_

"_Out of Control" _

**Chapter 2**

**Dedicated to Bryn. RIP my beloved boy.**

Moving to the sink, Sam scrubbed at the blood on his hands and splashed water over his face. He stared again at his raw and grazed knuckles. He'd clearly hit something hard, but had no recollection of doing so. _Dean…Dean'll know. _Sam shakily exited the bathroom, intent on waking his brother, needing help to fill in the gaps in his memory. Looking over to Dean's bed, Sam froze, _Dean?_

**xxx**

It was always the last job of the night after locking the bar up; dump the trash out back on route to his van. Pete was smiling to himself. It hadn't been a bad night. He'd been a bit concerned about the two good looking strangers, especially when he spotted one of them hustling his regulars at the pool table. Fortunately, the regulars didn't realise what was happening as the guy methodically whupped their asses. Pete had noticed the taller of the two leave early. The hustler stayed on, keeping himself to himself and just enjoying a quiet drink.

Pete lifted the lid on the industrial sized waste bin, bumping something with one foot as he tossed his trash bags inside. Pete glanced down, only to stumble backwards at the sight of the blood soaked body laid on the floor at the side of the bin, half in shadow.  
"Shit…..Fuck….what the..? Shit!"  
Pete warily squatted down, _Check for a pulse…Gotta check for a pulse_. _Shit! _Reaching out with a trembling hand, Pete suddenly hesitated, realising that pretty much wherever he touched was going to be coated in blood, _What if the dude's HIV_ _positive?_ As soon as the thought entered his mind, Pete gave himself a mental slap and stretched out again to feel for the carotid pulse. Nothing. Pete's anxiety levels were on the up and up as he tried again. Still nothing. Pete was certain he was feeling in the right area. Hell, he'd seen it done on NCIS enough times!  
"Fuck man. C'mon. Gimme a result here!"  
Desperately, he tried a third time. It did no good, the guy was a corpse.  
Taking deep breaths, trying not to puke, Pete patted various pockets until he found his cell. He hit 911.

**xxx**

The caller was obviously in a state of distress and it took the operator a precious couple of minutes to get him to calm down, speak more slowly and give her his location. The caller had just begun to make sense when he broke off and the operator heard a howl of terror.  
"Sir? Sir? What's happening? Can you tell me what's happening sir? Are you alright sir?"  
"The body…I swear. The freakin' body made a noise!"  
"Ok sir. Sir! Listen to me. It's alright, it's totally normal. It's just escaping air sir. Sir, I need the rest of your…"  
"No! No, you don't understand. It groaned! The body just groaned!"  
"Sir? Sir, are you telling me that the victim is still alive?"  
"Ali..? Er.._Yes!_ Yeah, _shit!_ I guess so!"

**xxx**

Dean's bed had clearly not been slept in. Sam glanced around in confusion, there was no sign that Dean had come back at all. Sam sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands. The last thing he recalled was telling Dean he was going to walk back to the motel and turn in. He remembered Dean calling him a party pooper and throwing him the keys to the Impala, saying he was going to chill, have a couple of nightcaps, promising he'd not be much longer and saying he'd try not to disturb the princess' beauty sleep. Sam remembered walking out into the fresh air and then…? And then nothing, till waking up needing the bathroom. Sam stared again at the state of his knuckles, _Gotta find Dean, figure this out._

Grabbing the jeans he wore earlier and a clean tee Sam dressed quickly and was heading out of the motel room door as he tried calling his brother's cell. He was in the Impala by the time the ring tone had switched over to voice mail.  
"Dean. Something's happened, I….I'm not sure what. I'm on my way back to the bar. Ring me if you get this man."  
As he got closer to the bar, Sam could see ahead the flashing lights of an ambulance and at least two patrol cars parked up at the entrance to the alleyway at the side of the bar.  
"Crap."

Nerves jangling now, Sam parked up some way back, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He forced himself to assume a casual walk as he headed in the direction of the commotion and slid in amongst the small group of on-lookers. The paramedics were rapidly loading someone into the back of the ambulance. Whoever it was had already been hooked up to an IV bag and one of the para's was holding an oxygen mask over the patient's face. The ambulance wasted no time in setting off, lights and sirens both going.

Sam looked at a guy stood next to him,  
"Hey…What's happened?"  
The guy looked pleased to be asked and he grinned up at Sam.  
"Seems some guy came out the bar and either got hit by a car or else got beat within an inch of his life. See that guy there? Talking with the cop? He owns the place, found the poor sap laid out by the trash bins. Apparently dude looked so bad, bar owner thought he was dead n' done. Must've damn near had heart attack hisself when the dead guy made a noise! I'd love to a seen look on the guy's face when _that_ happened.!"

Sam gave the man a tight smile before leaving the crowd to move as close as he dare to the bar owner who was still in conversation with the cop. Sam recognised the owner from earlier. He hugged the shadows, straining to listen in to what the owner was saying.  
"So you've no idea who the victim is?"  
"_NO_. I already told you. Him an' his friend had never been in here before…ever."  
"The regulars you say he hustled…any of them capable of doin' this?"  
"Hey, they're regulars. Doesn't mean I know their life story!"  
"Ok, ok. Do you mind coming down to the station and giving us a full description of the guy who was with him? I'd like you to look at some photos, see if any of them match up."  
"Yeah, sure. Hey, who needs sleep anyway?"

Sam had heard enough. Swallowing down the bile that had risen to the back of his throat he crossed the street and headed back to the car. He'd reached the Impala when he finally gave in and puked on the sidewalk.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

**Thanks for reading.  
****Chick x**


	3. Chapter 3

_A.N. _**Really**_ thankyou !_

_Out of Control_

**CHAPTER 3**

_*****Inside the ambulance*****_

"How's our guy doin' back there?"  
"Like he's gone ten rounds with Tyson. Skin tone's pale, pulse is up 145, Bp's low and we've got Cullen's signs. Better radio ahead, tell them to prep for surgery, possible abdominal bleed. Don't turn those sirens off any time soon."  
"Gotcha. Do we have an ID?"  
"Police bagged his wallet. No ID, just 600 bucks and about a dozen scraps of paper with women's names and phone numbers on 'em."  
"You think maybe he's a male whore?"  
"Jerk….hang on…"  
"What is it?"  
"Message tone….Got it, cell phone in back pocket, one new message. Might give us something?"  
…_..Dean. Something's happened. I….I'm not sure what. I'm on my way back to the bar. Ring me if you get this man…..  
_"Jeeze!"  
"What now? What's happening with him?"  
"Pulse rate peaked when I played the message, back down to 148 now."  
"So, you reckon our guy is Dean?"  
"Best we've got…..Oh man….Bp's dropping again. What's our ETA?"  
"Couple of miles out, keep him going, just a few more minutes."

**XXX**

Bobby Singer hated it when his sleep was disturbed at 3 a.m. by the sound of his cell ringing. He especially hated it when the caller ID read Dean or Sam. This time it flashed Sam. Groaning he shifted himself until he was sat up in bed and pressed answer.  
"Sam. Where's Dean?"  
There was no answer, nothing but a choked off sob.  
"Sam? Come on son, talk to me."  
"Hospital."  
"Dammit Sam, what's happened? Are you with him? Is he going to make it?"  
"I…I don't know."  
"You don't know _what_ Sammy?"  
"Any of it….anything."

Bobby took a deep breath, trying not to let the impatience reflect in his voice, recognising from the sound of Sam how distraught the young hunter was.  
"Sam…I'm listening. I'm here for you. Just…just talk to me, please?"  
"We were out having a drink together, I left early but Dean stayed. After that there's nothing Bobby, I can't remember anything. Not till I woke up back at the motel. I…I think I did it Bobby. I think I hurt Dean."  
"Why would you say that?"  
"I got up to go to the bathroom and…..my hands, my hands are a mess and I had blood on my face and clothes and Dean….he wasn't there. He hadn't come back Bobby."  
"Ok Sam, it's ok. What makes you think Dean's hurt? You know him better than anyone Sam. What's to say he hasn't just hooked up with some hot date for the night?"  
"I drove back to the bar. Bobby, they were loading him into an ambulance and there was a crowd and the police were there."  
"The cops? Did they see you Sam?"  
"No, no. I was careful. Some guy said Dean looked like he'd been involved in a hit and run. The bar owner found him, he's given the police a description of me and they've taken him to look at some mug-shots. There's a real good chance that me and Dean are in there. I couldn't go with him Bobby…I couldn't risk bein' picked up. I've no idea how he is…he could be dead for all I know! Bobby? I don't know what to do. What should I do Bobby? Please…just, tell me what to do….."

Bobby wearily rubbed his hand over his forehead.  
"First thing you do is tell me where you are. Then you get back to that motel and you get your stuff outta there, you hear me?"  
"I hear you."  
"You leave nothin' in that room that's gonna lead the cops to you, nothin'. Then you drive out of town, got that?"  
"Yes. Out of town."  
"Drive so you don't attract attention for at least a good 50 mile, then look for a diner. Once you've found one, you'll ring me again, give me the diner's location and then you'll do nothin', except wait for me. Ok?"  
"O…Ok."  
"Right, good. So, where are you?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

Knowing you're still out there keeps me motivated despite real life.  
Chick xx


	4. Chapter 4

_A.N. Ok, I'm starting to panic now at how many of you are following this. I promise I'll try my very best not to let you down! _

"_Out of Control"_

**CHAPTER 4**

It started out as an awareness of background noise. Gradually growing louder it finally coalesced into voices. They sounded hurried, their words made no sense, except one. Amongst the chaos, someone seemed to be calling his name. Dean's head turned a fraction in that direction. The voice was female, _Mom?_ Through the darkness Dean fought to respond, and ran straight into sudden searing pain. Dean's body reacted instantly and he jacknifed, desperately trying to curl up into himself.  
"Christ! He's movin'!"  
"_Grab his legs...  
_"Dean, calm down"  
..._Keep him straight"  
_"_**Pulse rate increasing!"  
**_"Dean, you're in hospital...  
"_Watch the IV line!"  
_...You have to stay still Dean."  
"Is that canula still in?"  
"Will _someone_ hold his Goddamn arms?"  
"Dean, you're safe, relax."  
"_**Arrhythmia people!** Move it or lose it!"_

**XXX**

Sam sat himself in a corner booth where he could, if necessary, view nearly the full length of the diner. He ordered a black coffee from the pleasant enough waitress and settled in to begin the agonising three hour wait for Bobby. He'd been sat for around twenty minutes when his attention was drawn to the TV fixed up on a wall and to the image of a local news reporter standing outside a hospital.  
"...in to the hospital behind me. The full identity of the man who we are told is roughly in his mid twenties, along with what has happened to him, remains, at this stage, a mystery. Although we _have_ been told that there is certain evidence to suggest the young man may be called Dean. The police are asking that anyone who thinks they may know the patient to please contact them. The latest from the hospital itself is that the young man has been taken into theatre, where his condition is described as _critical. _There will be further updates on this station as they come in."

Sam's hands shook so much that black coffee spilled from his cup and onto the table. His pleasant waitress must have been watching, as she was by his side almost immediately,  
"You ok hon? I can get you more coffee if you want some."  
Sam shook his head and gave the girl a weak smile.  
"No, I'm good. I'm meeting someone here but it's gonna take him a while to get to here. Is that likely to be a problem?"  
The waitress grinned and shook her head.  
"No, that's totally fine, just let me know if you need anything. The name's Andrea.."  
Sam nodded,  
"Thanks An?...Andrea. I will."

After a while the warmth of the diner combined with exhaustion and the reassuring sounds of normal life going on around him all ganged up on Sam and he fell asleep, tucked tight into the corner.

**XXX**

"_**Yes!**_ _We've got a heart beat!"  
_The surgeon gave a sigh of relief and turned to hand the defibrillator paddles to one of the nurses on his team.  
"Well done people, very well done. Now...lets get this young man prepped so I can find that bleed and fix it. Speed matters here people, speed and focus. I want this patient to leave this theatre alive. Everyone got that?"

As the surgical team moved to their individual tasks, the theatre phone rang. A young male nurse picked it up, listening a while before speaking.  
"Ok….that's great news! I'll let Mr Carter know…yeah…..thanks."  
Hearing his name, the surgeon look up.  
"What's the good news about?"  
"Sir, a member of the patient's family has come forward in response to the media reports."  
"Excellent. Is it a next of kin?"  
"His Uncle. Apparently both parents are deceased. They've got him in the relatives room, he's asking for an update."  
"And he will get one, just as soon as I am good and ready."

**XXX**

Sam was unceremoniously woken by a firm shove against his shoulder and a familiar voice.  
"Wake up Sleepin' Beauty, your phone's ringin'.  
Still in a daze, Sam began patting pockets, finally yanking his phone out from a jacket pocket as Bobby sat down. Sam looked at the caller ID, then across to Bobby.  
"It's Dean's ID."  
"Well? _Answer_ it Princess."

Sam hesitantly put the phone to his ear.  
"H….hello?"  
"This is the Sheriff's department. Could you give me your name sir?"  
Panicked, Sam hit end call, then turned his cell off and quickly shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. Eyebrows raised, Bobby waited.  
"It was the Sheriff's department. They asked for my name!"  
"Guess they've got a hold of Dean's phone then and they're going through his incoming calls list. When did you last ring him?"  
"I tried ringing him when I was heading back to the bar. He didn't answer, so I left a message. He'd been found by the bar owner by then."  
Bobby nodded.  
"Ok. First, I need a coffee; then we need to track down the hospital that's got Dean and try to figure out this whole friggin' mess."  
"He's at Mercy General."  
"And you know that how?"  
"There's been reports of Dean being found on the local news. The last one I saw said he was in surgery and his conditi…..his condition was critical. They were asking anyone who might know Dean to come forward."

As Sam spoke, Andrea wandered over ready to take Bobby's order, her eyes widened when she heard Sam talking.  
"Your talkin' about that poor guy, Dean. The one who was found all beaten? I heard that report too, and it worked. Isn't that great?"  
Sam's mouth opened and closed without him actually saying anything, leaving Bobby to step in.  
"I've only just heard about this poor guy. Has someone come forward then?"  
Andrea's smile grew,  
"Yeah! His uncle; and the last update said Dean's condition's more stable. Seems he's gonna make it, d'you think?"  
Bobby smiled up at the waitress,  
"It sure sounds that way. Can we get a couple more coffees?"

Bobby watched as Andrea walked away, then turned back to Sam.  
"So…you two got any uncles I don't know about?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	5. Chapter 5

_A.N. Hoping a lot of you assumed the uncle at the hospital was Bobby? Oh, if only t'were that simple! ;D_

"_Out of Control"_

**Chapter 5**

The surgeon appeared out of the operating theatre, already untying his greens. He walked hurriedly through the staff changing room, dumping the blood stained top in the laundry bag along with his head gear. The mask got dumped in hazardous waste. Forgoing the lift, he jogged up the stairs, emerging out on the main hospital corridor and heading straight to the nurses station.  
"Right, where's this Uncle of my patient? Still here?"  
"Yes Mr Carter. It's a Mr Martinson and he's in the relatives room. He's just been speaking with the police."  
The surgeon nodded and strode off. Mr Martinson looked up at the brief knock on the door and stood to greet his visitor. The surgeon reached out and the two men shook hands. At 6'2", the surgeon looked down into the Uncle's upturned face. Mr Martinson just scraped 5'7". Dressed in a very expensive looking charcoal grey suit, he was completely bald, clean shaven and was of a rotund build. Round metal framed glasses perched on his nose, through which stared unusually amber eyes.

"Mr Martinson your nephew…by the way…_is_ his name Dean?"  
"It most certainly is. Dean Martinson, my deceased brother's only child. He and I, sadly, are the only one's left."  
"Right. Well, as I was saying, your nephew came to us with a very serious abdominal bleed on top of rather extensive external injuries. Obviously, it was vital we dealt with the bleeding initially. I'm sorry to say that Dean _did_ suffer a myocardial infarction….er.. that is, a heart attack, just prior to surgery. You can rest assured though that we have stopped the internal bleeding and he will be receiving the best of care, initially in the ICU. He had also suffered a dislocated jaw which it made sense to deal with whilst we had him anaesthetised. In addition we discovered three fractured ribs on his left side, fortunately none of which penetrated his lung. As you will see when you are able to visit him, there are a number of facial abrasions, one above his eyebrow requiring stitches. Also, I must warn you that there is extensive bruising to his face and torso. All in all, whoever attacked him probably thought he wouldn't live to tell the tale. He is one very lucky young man to have survived this far. Our job now is to ensure he progresses toward a positive outcome."  
"Yes… of course. And anything I can do to help, please, just ask. Whatever he may need, I will, of course, be meeting all costs incurred. You have no idea how much that boy means to me, although I haven't seen him in nearly a year. He left our home to embark on what I believe is known as, a road trip? How soon do you think I will be able to take him back home? The hooligan who attacked him remains on the loose and I admit that I am fearful for my nephew's safety."

**XXX**

Sam was desperate to leave the diner.  
"I've got to get to Dean, confront the jackass claiming to be our uncle. He's got to have something to do with all this and that mean's Dean's in danger. You can come or you can stay but….."  
Bobby intervened in Sam's tirade.

"For the love of God, shut the hell up and think it through! So far the police have only one person they're looking for and, in case you've forgotten, the description sounds a lot like _you_! The_ last_ thing we need is you strolling into the hospital. I mean, I hate to be the one to break it to you son, but you _do_ kinda stand out! I don't think they'll be throwing your brother out straight away. For now he's as safe there as anywhere, there's lots of people and he'll be closely monitored. Ok?"  
"But….."  
"I said…._ok_?"  
Sam nodded miserably.  
"Good. I'm thinking the first thing that needs to happen is for Uncle Bobby to put in a guest appearance at the hospital. See if I can't cause some nervousness in the impostor, find out what he's after. _Your_ job will be to stay out of sight till I say otherwise. Got it?"  
"Got it…but what if….."  
"What if nothin' Sam. You gotta trust me, sit tight, and let me do my job. We need to know what the frigg we're dealin' with. That means you'll be staying in my wagon, understand?"  
"Yessir."  
"Fine. Now let's get movin'."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	6. Chapter 6

_A.N. **Zechariah?** Good guess…but wrong :D  
__RE: **Sam** - of **course** his turn will come (maybe);P  
_Also :** Thank you**_ for your kind words about Bryn. Broken hearts hurt, and sometimes I really can't breath._

_**Have to do other stuff tonight ready for work tomorrow, but still wanted to get a  
**__**little something up, hence the very short (but important) chapter. Have fun :D**_

* * *

"_Out of Control"_

**CHAPTER 6**

The nurse smiled at his barely contained excitement as she escorted Mr Martinson up to Dean's room.  
"I understand you haven't seen your nephew for a while?"  
"What? Oh…..yes. I mean….yes, that's correct, I haven't seen him. He's been travelling around America."  
The nurse paused outside the room.  
"Now, you must understand that Dean has undergone major surgery and has only been out of theatre just under two hours. You are aware that he also has a number of visual injuries such as extensive bruising and the swelling around his eyes, nose and jaw?"  
"Yes yes. I have been told this is the case."  
"Alright. I just needed to make certain you know what to expect. He's still sleeping right now. We really wouldn't expect him to come around fully for a few hours yet. So, if you're ready? After you, Mr Martinson."

Martinson waited politely, accepting the chair offered to him by the nurse and smiling at her as she, finally, left him alone with Dean. Martinson stood at the bedside, looking at Dean with an expression akin to a tiger having lined up a baby deer for it's next meal. He reached out and placed the back of his hand against Dean's forehead briefly.  
"Dean Winchester. You are going to be_ so_ grateful to find out that Uncle Phillip is here and that I'm taking care of you; and I will Dean, I'll take _very_ good care of you. Now, how about we create a little miracle for these hard working nurses? Time for you to wake, my boy."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	7. Chapter 7

_A.N. Just, wow, thank you! I'm sorry I didn't get to update yesterday, but I'm trying to be back to daily now. My best guess is that there's probably around four or five chapters to go, but that IS only a guess. Hope you are all able to hang on in there! **Loving **your guesses as to what's going off and who Phillip Martinson is. Giving me a good giggle :D_

* * *

"Out of Control"

**CHAPTER 7**

At first it was a dreamlike sensation, and in the dream there was the slight pressure of something cool covering his eyelids. It was pleasant, soothing, and oh so gentle. Then it went away. A miniscule turn of the head, seeking to be rejoined with the cool. A soft sigh when it couldn't be found. Focus given instead to another sensation, auditory this time, a murmur, unclear, yet he knew it meant something. He wanted to know what words the calming voice was speaking. Were they meant for him? Would the words help him to find the cool? He wanted to know…he wanted to see.

**XXX**

Phillip completed the spell and waited for Dean to do the rest. Movement behind Dean's eyelids told him the young man was fighting his way to wakefulness. Finally, amidst the deep purple bruising and the swelling, two narrow slits of green, as yet unfocused, drifting lazily, trying to catch onto something. Phillip placed a hand on Dean's cheek and turned Dean's head enough to allow Dean's searching gaze to find him. Dean blinked slowly, his eyes opening a little wider as he looked up at Phillip. Phillip smiled.  
"Hello boy."  
A small frown furrowed Dean's brow, his attention remaining on Phillip's face.  
"What's wrong my lad? What is it?"  
Dean's frown intensified a little.  
"Oh…of course, you're wondering where you are. You're in hospital Dean. Someone hurt you. Do you remember?"  
Dean closed his eyes again, trying to bring his jumble of thoughts into order, trying to access his memory. How was he hurt? Why?

Suddenly, his stomach lurched as though he had just tipped over the highest peak of a roller coaster and in slow motion he saw the image of a fist, already slick with blood, moving toward his face. The figure behind the fist was blurred, had no real clarity in Dean's memory. Dean concentrated harder. Behind the fist was a man, taller than Dean. The remembered image showed the man had dark hair, the way it moved as the fist continued it's journey highlighted it's length; the man's momentum causing the fringe to fly back away from man's face, revealing hazel green eyes, and hate. Dean's own eyes snapped open, and his head jerked back into the hospital pillow as he tried to avoid the fist conjured up in his mind's eye. In an instant, the cool was back.

Dean felt it on his cheek; and the man who had been speaking to him now hushed Dean; and he told him everything was fine; and Dean continued to look up into this man's face; and accepted the man's reassurances.

**XXX**

The grey light of early morning was accompanied by the kind of deceptive light rain that somehow manages to quickly soak a person to the bone. The hospital car park was virtually empty, the only vehicles at this time of the day being those belonging to the hospital's night duty staff. Bobby parked up as inconspicuously as he could and waited for Sam to pull up alongside. Climbing out of the Impala, Sam locked it and walked to Bobby's truck, sliding himself into the passenger seat. Bobby looked at him with concern.  
"You gonna be ok here?"  
Sam turned his face away.  
"Honestly? No. Dean's in here somewhere. He's hurt and I should be there for him. I should be sat with him. He could be awake, he could be asking for me. What's he going to think Bobby? He's alone and he shouldn't be. He needs me."

Bobby raised a hand towards Sam's shoulder, hesitated, and pulled away again. He sighed.  
"Sam…..I know it's hard son , but you gotta stay out of sight, just till we clear up what the hell happened to him_ and_ to you, ok? I promise, I'll be as quick as I can, and if Dean's awake? I'll let him know you're waiting and explain why you couldn't be there. Sam, your brother's no fool, he'll understand. Just….just sit tight and stay out of trouble while I'm gone, will you?"  
Sam nodded, his face still turned away from Bobby. Bobby stared briefly at the back of the young man's head before stepping out of the truck. Shutting the door, he headed off toward the hospital entrance. Sam finally turned and watched the older man disappear inside.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	8. Chapter 8

_A.N. No, really, it's not Zechariah! A Warlock eh? Good guess, wrong, but very good guess. On the edge of your seat? Blimey, watch you don't fall off! Bobby will get there…when I let him. ;P Chick xx_

"_Out of Control"_

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

Phillip smiled as he saw the tension lessen in Dean in response to his voice and his reassurances.  
"There, that's better. Good boy, no need to be afraid now. You're safe with me. Would you like a sip of water?"  
Dean nodded gratefully.  
"P…please…yes."  
Dean's voice was quiet and he sounded croaky. His eyes followed the man's movement as the man poured water into a glass then leaned forward to cup Dean's head in his hand, raising Dean up a little and putting the glass to his lips.  
"Not too much now, small sips, that's right….we don't want you chocking now, do we my lad?"  
Dean did as he was instructed, closing his eyes in appreciation as the water eased his lips and throat. Whilst Phillip removed the glass and placed it back on hospital side table, Dean's gaze once again tracked his every move. Phillip turned back to Dean, smiling when he saw Dean watching him.  
"Better?"  
Dean didn't return the man's smile, instead he regarded the man curiously.  
"Do I…? Who are you?"

Dean was taken aback by the man's sudden melodramatic response to his question as Phillip gave loud gasp, clapping a hand over his mouth, before holding both hands up to his head in a dramatic gesture of horror.  
"_Oh my!_ Why, Dean! It does appear that you have lost your memory! Oh dear. I shall fetch a doctor to you straight away!"

Dean wasn't able to see the smile of satisfaction that appeared on the man's face as he turned his back on Dean and trotted out of the room. Dean gave a mental shrug and didn't dwell on the man's strange reaction, instead he looked around the room, taking in his surroundings. As his eyes swept over the heart monitor and the morphine pump, he began to have the strange sensation that he was missing something, something he would have expected to be in the white walled room with him. The feeling puzzled Dean. The room appeared normal enough for a hospital. The IV line and monitors he was hooked up to looked absolutely right. His visual search finally became focused on a chair, which Dean assumed was for the man. Dean gave a puzzled frown. He had the strong feeling that it was something to do with the chair, but it was totally beyond him why that would be. He glanced back to the morphine pump, deciding to himself that the powerful pain control drug was obviously the reason he felt slightly out of sync.

The door to his room opened again to admit the funny little man who was hurrying ahead of a serious looking doctor and a matronly nurse.  
"See? My nephew is awake, but the poor boy didn't know who I was!"

**XXX**

Bobby walked in the large, carpeted entrance foyer and looked around. He spotted a wood and glass reception booth which currently contained one official looking woman. The sign stood on the wooden counter in front of where she sat read _"Admission's Clerk". _Bobby headed her way and stood at the closed glass window designed to separate staff from public. The woman had her head down, focusing on her computer keyboard and whatever task she was currently carrying out. There being no other member of the public around this early in the morning, Bobby had no doubt that the clerk was aware of his presence and so he waited politely for her to complete her task and acknowledge him. When, after a good couple of minutes she still hadn't even glanced in his direction, Bobby engaged the polite cough tactic. He gave a not too discrete huff of irritation as the clerk continued to ignore his presence. After another few seconds, he moved on to the polite tap on the window technique. This time the clerk looked toward Bobby, her glare clearly stating _I'm busy doing something much more important than dealing_ _with whatever your enquiry is, so just back off and wait! _Message conveyed, she returned her focus back to the keyboard. Bobby crossed his arms and tapped the toe of one boot impatiently against the floor as he gave the woman a little more time. Finally, he'd had enough, and with a muttered _Screw this_, he rapped loudly against the glass, pointing meaningfully at the sliding window when the clerk threw him a look of fury.

The clerk pursed her lips, but never the less, she stood and slid the partitioning window to one side.  
"**Yes?"  
**Bobby took a deep breath, containing his annoyance and managing to paste a friendly smile on his face.  
"I'm sorry to bother you m'am, but I understand my nephew has been admitted here as an emergency and I wonder if you could tell me which ward he is on?"  
At this, the clerk's expression softened a little.  
"Your nephew's name?"  
"Dean S…er, Dean. He's been brought here after a guy found him hurt in an alley. I saw the report on TV and realised it was my boy."  
The clerk's eyes narrowed slightly.  
"And you are?"  
"Bobby Singer."  
"And you say you're his uncle?"  
"That's right….I heard another of his uncles is already here?"  
"Just a moment Sir."

The clerk turned to her computer. Bobby watched her carefully, noting the stiffness that had appeared in the woman's shoulders, the way her movement's seemed to have become very deliberate. He cursed internally, something was wrong and he guessed it was most likely something he'd said. As Bobby stood, he weighed up his options. The clerk glanced back over her shoulder at Bobby, a tight smile on her face. Turning away, she reached for the phone. Bobby quickly reacted.  
"Lady?"  
The clerk paused as she was about to dial and turned to look back at Bobby again. Bobby shifted his expression to one of embarrassment and he beckoned the clerk over. Relief washed over him as she replaced the receiver. Crossing her arms, she moved to stand facing Bobby from behind the glass barrier,  
"Well?"  
Bobby looked down at his feet in apparent shame and took a deep breath before meeting the clerk's steady glare again.  
"M'am…I gotta be honest. I wasn't expectin' someone as on the ball as you to be on duty this early."

Bobby was satisfied to note a small fleeting smile cross the woman's face at his compliment  
"Truth is, I'm a reporter. I was hoping to get an update on the lad, you know? Before the competition."  
The clerk gave a huff.  
"I thought as much."  
Bobby smiled, maintaining his _you got me_ look.  
"Really? How'd you figure it? What gave me away?"  
The clerk shook her head, giving Bobby that _you're just a poor male_ look that all women manage to perfect from a young age.  
"Your claiming to be an uncle. You clearly haven't done your research. If you had, then you'd _know_ the poor young man has no other family besides the one uncle who's with him."  
Mind racing, Bobby managed to look suitably chided.  
"You're right m'am. That was stupid of me. Erm….I don't suppose _you_ know how he's doin', do you? That's all I'm after. There's a lot of readers out there who're concerned about him and wishing him well. Obviously, my highly placed source would stay confidential."

On the hook, Bobby reeled her in and the clerk uncrossed her arms before leaning across the counter. She glanced around the foyer before she answered, ensuring no one else was listening. Bobby dutifully mirrored her actions.  
"Alright, but you better keep your word about not saying where this came from. He, Dean, came through his surgery, but I heard it was a close call. Apparently they had to resuscitate him once! Anyway, he's up on the ICU and his uncle's up there with him. I hear the uncle is paying all the costs, so _he_ must be well off. Last I heard, they're expecting Dean to wake up some time later today, but you can tell your readers that, so far, the medics think there's a good chance he's going to be ok."  
Bobby gave the clerk a genuine smile of gratitude on hearing Dean was alright.  
"Thank you m'am. Thank you so much. That's great news, really. I can't wait to share it with my readers. You've been wonderful."  
The clerk matched Bobby's smile, her cheeks reddening as Bobby took his leave.  
"Take care m'am, it's been a pleasure to meet you."  
Bobby turned and walked away from the now slightly flustered admissions clerk. As he headed toward the exit, a call came through on his cell.

**XXX**

Sam shifted around in his seat, trying to find the most comfortable position. He tried closing his eyes to grab some more sleep, but worry along with the frustration of inaction simply wouldn't let him relax. With a sigh, he gave up. Next he began exploring his surroundings, starting with the contents of the glove compartment. He paused when amongst the collection of oily rags, odd sized screws, old receipts, a rusted penknife and an old pair of cheap sunglasses, he found a grubby and obviously well thumbed Mills & Boon historical romance paperback. He stared at the title, _Knights of Love_, in amazement before hurriedly stuffing the novel back into the glove compartment, vowing to himself never to mention his discovery to Bobby.

Finding nothing of any real interest in any of the other pockets or compartments, Sam spent some time watching raindrops trickling down the length of the front window. Devoting his full attention to following the course of one raindrop as it set off the windscreen. Choosing one likely looking candidate, Sam had a bet with himself that this would reach the bottom of the front windshield before the neighbouring droplet of rainwater. He lost. Sam resorted to simply sitting staring out of the window at the still falling rain, the constant nervous jiggling up and down of one knee his only movement. After a while he looked at his watch and was both surprised and disheartened to realise that Bobby had only been gone for five minutes.

By the point at which Sam checked his watch for the third time, only a further three minutes had passed. Sam gave another drawn out sigh before wriggling around in his seat again in order to extract his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans. Stuffing his hand in the pocket, he grasped the phone and, at the same time, his fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper. Curious, Sam pulled the paper out of his pocket along with his phone. Dropping the phone on his lap, Sam carefully unfolded the paper, his curiosity rising further as he noticed the paper appeared to be hand made. Spreading the small square out on his thigh, his eyes opened wider as he looked at the script which filled it. He picked up his phone and hit speed dial.

**XXX**

Still walking, Bobby retrieved his phone and looked at the caller ID. He was pushing open the exit door as he answered.  
"Sam. I'm just coming out now…"  
"Yeah, I can see you. Bobby, I've found something."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_**Reviews let me know whether this is working or not :D**_

_**Chick xx**_


	9. Chapter 9

_A.N. Castiel? Now that's a **really** interesting guess. Unfortunately the description of the guy doesn't fit Cas at all so, nope, not him :D The problem now is that I'm enjoying your guesses so much, I'm quite sad that story demands that Uncle Phillip has to be "outed" soon. _

"_Out of Control"_

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

Dean gave an amused smile as the man…_My Uncle?..._was chided by the Doctor for hovering in between himself and the nurse  
"Mr Martinson…I realise that you are concerned about your nephew, but could you please step aside and give us some room to work?"  
Phillip had the good grace to look apologetic as he hurried to move away from Dean's bedside.  
"Oh…indeed. It's just, what about the amnesia? Dean? You _do_ trust that I'm your uncle, don't you? I am, after all, your _only_ family."  
Dean considered the question as the Doctor began his checks, beginning with his pupil responses. The nurse, meanwhile, took hold of Phillip's arm and firmly but gently guided him out of the room.  
"Mr Martinson. The doctor will be a little while, but then I'm sure he will want to have a chat with you. Until then, why don't you go to the hospital restaurant and have some breakfast?"  
Phillip's amber eyes looked directly into the nurse's grey ones and, just for a second or two, the nurse had the strangest feeling that she was staring over the edge of a precipice, and the ground was a very, _**very**_ long way down. Suddenly Phillip smiled, and the sensation was gone.  
"You're right my dear. I shall take your advice, breakfast sounds like an excellent idea."

The doctor looked up from Dean's chart as the nurse re-entered the room, she looked noticeably pale.  
"Jean? Are you ok?"  
The nurse gave a swift nod.  
"Yes….yes. I'm fine. I just felt a little dizzy for a second but I'm ok now. I'm probably just ready to go home and get some sleep. So, how's our star patient doing?"  
As she spoke, Jean patted Dean's shoulder lightly.  
"I feel…..woozy."  
The doctor smiled at Dean.  
"Don't worry, that's just your pain control. I must say, I'm _extremely_ surprised to see you're awake. We expected you to sleep for a good while longer yet. Still, all your vital signs are what we would hope them to be right now, if not better. However, your uncle felt you didn't remember him. What _do_ you remember Dean?"  
Dean lowered his eyes, for some reason not wanting either the doctor or the nurse to see the fear and confusion he was feeling.  
"Honestly? Nothin'. I know you all keep calling me Dean, but I don't even know if that's really my name."

Dean finally looked up at the doctor, his eyes glistening.  
"What's happening to me? Why can't I remember? I've no idea who I am…"  
Jean grasped Dean's hand as she felt tears hovering in her own eyes for this young man who, in that moment, looked so lost, so afraid, and so very vulnerable.

**XXX**

As Bobby opened the truck door, he and Sam both spoke in unison,  
"_Well?"  
_Sam gave a slight smile,  
"You first. How's Dean? How come you're back so soon? Is he ok? Can I see him? He's not been moved has he?"  
"Where exactly would you like me to start Sam?"  
"Sorry...Is Dean ok?"  
"Yes. So far as I can tell, he's fine. He's had his surgery and he's being monitored in the ICU, ok?"  
Sam visibly relaxed at the news and his smile more obvious this time.  
"Thank God."  
"As to how come I'm back, couldn't get past the damn admissions clerk. Jeeze, I must be losing my touch."  
"Old age Bobby, get's you like that!"  
"I'm not so old I can't whup _your_ behind for you sonny boy. Anyway, the hospital oracle got suspicious when I said I was Dean's uncle. Seems our mystery guy has convinced everyone that he's Dean's only family….."  
"That son of a _bitch_!"  
"Yeah. Anyways, looked like she was about to call security so I had to switch tactics. Told her I was a journalist. She was real helpful after that. So, I figure that gives us a couple of options now."  
"Well, hold onto them…..I found this in my jeans pocket. I don't recognise it and I _know_ it wasn't in my pocket when Dean and I went out last night. Mean anything to you?"

As he spoke, Sam handed Bobby the piece of paper he had found. Bobby stared at it in silence for a while, tuning it one way, then the other, his expression growing more serious. Sam's patience ran out.  
"_**Bobby! **_If you know what the hell it is, just _tell_ me dammit!"  
Sam's stomach lurched when Bobby turned to him, the older hunter was clearly extremely worried.  
"I'm not absolutely certain, but I've got an idea. You got that laptop of yours to hand?"  
Sam nodded.  
"Sure. It's in the car, hang on."  
Sam almost fell out of the truck in his hurry, leaving Bobby about to talk to thin air. Shaking his head, Bobby climbed out of the truck after Sam.  
"Sam….Don't know about you son, but I could use a coffee while I check this out. You're drivin'. Might as well do this in a café or some such with a hot drink."  
Sam gave Bobby an impatient glare, then climbed into the Impala's driving seat.  
"Ok, ok. Then will you _please_ tell me what the_ fuck's_ got you so shook up?"

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. Final guesses anyone, before the next chapter?_


	10. Chapter 10

_A.N. So, not Alistair and not Azazel either! Here's a _huge_ hint, anyone who's read "The Way of the Dead" previously might find themselves wanting to slap their own forehead later :D_

* * *

"Out of Control"

**CHAPTER 10**

Dean's doctor wandered into the hospital restaurant, quickly picking out Phillip amongst the small number of customers. Ordering himself a coffee he made his way across to where Phillip sat, alone, at a window table, staring thoughtfully at the outside world.  
"Mr Martinson, mind if I join you?"  
Phillip turned smoothly, acknowledging the doctor with a smile and a nod of his head to the empty chair opposite himself.  
"Please, do."

As he sat down, the Doctor glanced out of the window.  
"Seen anything interesting outside?"  
Phillip gave a slight shrug.  
"I'm afraid not, I was just looking at the old truck that's parked out there."  
The doctor glanced back to the car park.  
"I see the one. Can't say as I recognise it….Anyway, your nephew."  
"Yes? How is he doing doctor?"

"Well, it appears you were right. Dean does present as suffering a complete amnesia. I've arranged for him to be taken down for an EEG and an MRI scan later, see if they can shed any light on the situation. Apart from the amnesia though, Dean is coming along very well so I am transferring him out of the ICU and onto one of the surgical wards."  
"I see. Well…that _is_ good news. Might I request that he is given a private room?"  
"Of course. After all…you're the one paying the bills."

**XXX**

Before beginning to look for somewhere to stop, Sam drove to the outskirts of town, mindful that the police still wanted to speak to him in connection with the attack on Dean. Bobby already had his nose buried firmly in Sam's laptop, his only communication being the occasional muttering under his breath and the odd admonishment to himself, which Sam guessed meant Bobby was finding this puzzle less than straight forward. Sam himself couldn't stop his thoughts from dwelling on the fact that he'd not been able to see Dean, or even get any kind of message to him. He kept reassuring himself that, once Dean woke, everything could begin to be cleared up and would, finally, start making some kind of sense. Since finding the scrap of paper that Bobby was now working on, Sam's previous intense curiosity about the man claiming to be an uncle had turned to all encompassing fear for Dean's safety; more so since Bobby's failed attempt to gain access to Dean.

His thoughts drifted on to how all it would take was a couple of simple calls, and Bobby could have himself confirmed as Dean's genuine uncle. As Sam realised this, he couldn't figure for the life of him why Bobby hadn't done just that? He gave Bobby a puzzled glance, _Why? Why hadn't he made those calls?  
_"Bobby?"  
The older hunter didn't look up from his task.  
"Yeah?"  
"You _do_ know that if you gave the Sheriff in Sioux Falls a ring, she'd be able to contact the local police, tell them you _are_ Dean's Uncle and get them to check out the guy that's with him?"  
"Yeah."  
"So?"  
Bobby finally looked up at Sam.  
"So, what?"

Sam's impatience flared.  
"_So..._why the hell haven't you rung her? For Chrissake. I could be with Dean right now! Instead I'm driving around looking for a stupid coffee stop. Why the fuck am I doing that Bobby? Please, explain it to me, 'cos I'm really fuckin' confused right now!"  
"Café."  
"_**What?**__"  
_"Café…up ahead."  
"You want...? That's it! I've _had_ it! _**Screw**_ coffee!"

Sam jerked the steering wheel into a hard right and slammed his foot on the breaks, grinding to a halt at the side of the road, a couple of hundred yards short of the little road side café that Bobby had spotted. Bobby looked towards the café, before turning again to Sam, his expression remaining neutral.  
"I think they got a car park for customers…unless you're fancying a walk?"  
Sam stared at Bobby in disbelief. Needing to put some space between himself and Bobby by way of avoiding his sudden desire to throttle the man, Sam scrambled out of the car, leaving the driver's side door wide open as he turned his back to Bobby and tried taking a few calming deep breaths.

Bobby put the laptop down on the dash before he too got out of the car. Resting his forearms on the roof of the Impala, he quietly waited until Sam tuned to face him.  
"Feeling better?"  
Sam shot him a dagger filled glare, but stayed silent.  
"You're right. She _could_ tell the police in town that I'm Dean's uncle, you're his brother and the other guy's a fake, and I _will_ ask her to. I will. Just not yet. I'm not gonna risk doin' anythin' that might give this guy a heads up, scare him into running. We need to know who, _or what_, the hell the man is. And we need to deal with him. _Not_ risk him disappearing and, if he didn't kill Dean before scippin' town, maybe one day reappearing to have _another_ go at your brother. Understand?"  
Sam took to staring at his own shoes.  
"I guess."  
"Good. Now, are we walking it from here or shall we use the car park provided by the café owners? Idjit."  
Sam couldn't help but smile at the affectionate name calling.

Once both men were settled at a corner table in old fashioned but friendly café, Bobby once again opened the laptop.  
"Feel like sharing what you've got so far old man?"  
Bobby raised one eyebrow at Sam.  
"Less of the old, child."  
Bobby spread the delicate piece of paper Sam had found open on the table and tapped a finger on it.  
"What you've got here is one part of a bigger spell. This script marks out the intended victim. In this case, you."  
"So, we're dealing with witchcraft?"  
"Don't think so, it's not as straight forward as that. See, there's some kinds of spells that're incredibly specialised. I'm guessin' that's what we've got here. _This_ is the cause of your memory loss Sam. It has to have been planted on you before you left Dean at that bar. Had you been wearing those jeans all day?"  
Sam shook his head.  
"No. I changed into them before we went out."  
Sam gazed at the slip of paper, his thoughts now clearly elsewhere. Bobby waited.

"Dean was playing pool. I went to the bar to get more drinks. I remember picking up the drinks and, when I turned, nearly emptying them onto the head of a guy standing directly behind me. He was quite short and stood so close, I simply didn't see him till I collided with him. That was him Bobby, wasn't it?"  
Sam's eyes met Bobby's, looking for confirmation.  
"That'd be my guess. Do you remember what he looked like? Was he familiar at all?"  
"No, not familiar. Like I said, he was short, came roughly to just above chest high on me. He was bald, and I remember he wore glasses, round ones. He apologised…Yeah…I remember thinking he had an odd way of talking. Kind of old fashioned. He was dressed in a suit and..._Shit!_ _**Shit! **_ _Bobby_! We've got to get back to the hospital. We _**have**_ to get Dean out of there!"  
"Sam? What the hell?"  
"You said some spells are specialised. This one here. Would that be somethin' a Necromancer would use?"  
"Oh…_balls_! You think another one's got his sights set on Dean's soul or whatever?"  
"The way he spoke, it was the same kind of old fashioned way I remember the Necromancer back in Tennessee spoke. It makes sense. With the one in Tennessee dead, I guess it leaves the field wide open for another one to step up."  
"Sam! The mystery uncle!"  
Without another word, Bobby threw some money on to the table and both men hurried out of the café.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. So now you know. Just to clarify, this story is set a few months later and is actually the sequel to "The Way of the Dead," but can, obviously, be read as a stand alone fic. Anyhoo, next chapter soon ;P_

_Chick x_


	11. Chapter 11

A.N. THANK YOU for your reviews, it's great knowing that you're making this journey with me. We're at that point in the story where all the characters are heading toward the same place. Notice I don't guarantee they all arrive at the right time though! ;D

"Out of Control"

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

Although the doctor had left to book Dean in for his scans and to speak to Phillip, the nurse stayed behind for a while. She busied herself around the room, tidying things that didn't need it, checking Dean's canula, scribbling on his chart. Eventually she ran out of excuses to stay with her patient. She turned to Dean, giving him a warm smile which Dean couldn't help himself from returning.  
"Well. I think I'm done for now, but I'll not be long before I'm back to check on you again honey."  
She ensured the nurse call button was within Dean's reach.  
"You need anything, you just press that and I'll be here right away."  
"Promise?"  
"Cross my heart."  
As he watched the older woman leave, Dean found himself having to resist the urge to call her back and, at risk of sounding like he was five years old, asking her to stay with him.

A hand on his shoulder disturbed Dean who was surprised to realise that he had drifted off to sleep. He opened his eyes, to find Phillip looking down at him thoughtfully. Dean waited. Finally Phillip broke the silence.  
"I want you to come home with me Dean, so that I can take care of you. I think it would be for the best."  
Dean considered this for a moment before responding.  
"Look, I know you mean well and you've been great. You have. It's just...my whole life is missing, I don't even know where _home_ is."  
"Home is with me Dean. That's all you really need to know right now. You _do_ know that the monster who did this to you is still out there, still on the loose? _I am the only_ _person who can keep you safe Dean. I am the only one you can trust implicitly. Do you hear me Dean? The __**only**__ person you can trust. You know that you can completely rely on me Dean. I am the only one Dean…..there is no one else, no one at all. You only have me Dean….__**Only**__ me….."_

Phillip's words ebbed and flowed, swirling all around Dean, wheedling their way inside, until they became embedded in his sub-conscious, reassuring, persuasive, powerful; and Dean's eyes gradually began to close once more.  
The smile that formed on Phillip's lips held no humour, no sign of kindness. It was the chill smile of a predator; one who knew that it's prey was at it's mercy. Phillip leant over Dean and rested a hand gently on Dean's chest, over his heart. A shudder of barely contained excitement ran throughout the Necromancer, and he licked his lips slowly.  
"_Soon my sweet boy. Very soon now."  
_Bending further, Phillip placed a soft kiss on the unconscious hunter's forehead.

**XXX**

Sam pulled out of the car park, adrenaline surging through him, tempting him to drive like a madman in order to get to the hospital sooner. Fighting the desire, Sam stuck to the speed limits, not wanting to risk catching the attention of any traffic cops. Bobby looked worriedly at the determination on Sam's face.  
"You do know we can't just race into the hospital half cocked don't you Sam? We need some kinda plan."  
"I've got a plan. Shoot out this jerkoff's necklace and save my brother."  
Bobby sighed heavily.  
"See? That's just what I'm talkin' about. Just 'cos the Tennessee Necromancer's phylactery was a locket, it doesn't mean this guy uses the same thing Sam. What if you go in there all Terminator and the guy isn't wearing any necklace? Dean'll be dead while_ you're_ still thinkin' about it."  
Sam was silent, then he reluctantly nodded.  
"Ok…So, what do you suggest?"  
"I'm thinkin' we wait till tonight when there's less staff around and most of the visitors have gone home. Then we concentrate first on getting your brother outta' there and somewhere safe. Away from this place. That alright with you?"

As Sam signalled his agreement, he caught sight of his own grazed and split knuckles. He immediately began to bring the Impala to a halt.  
"Sammy?"  
Sam swallowed hard.  
"Gotta stop…"  
As soon as Sam put the breaks on, he flung open the car door then quickly turned in his seat, hanging his upper body out of the car just as he began to puke.  
Bobby grimaced and turned away, waiting for the boy to stop spewing his innards over the road. Eventually Sam felt able to sit himself upright in the driver's seat again, His skin had turned ghostly pale and his hands had a noticeable tremor, Bobby's voice expressed his concern.  
"You feelin' better now kid? What the hell just happened?"

Sam held both his hands up with the backs facing outward to Bobby. Bobby remained silent as he looked from Sam's injuries to the young man's pale and distressed face.  
"I think I _did_ attack Dean…and that I _did_ hit him long enough and hard enough to cause these and to damn near kill my own brother. But I don't think I was the one in control. I think that's probably the other part of the spell. But Bobby, it was still me. What if Dean _does_ remember? I've got no other cuts, bruises….nothin'. Nothin' to show Dean tried to defend himself, to stop me. Bobby, what if he just let me hurt him, because he didn't want to hurt_ me_?"  
Bobby saw the tears in Sam's eyes, threatening to overspill. He wanted to reassure the boy, tell Sam it wasn't him, that he was being played. But in his heart of hearts, Bobby thought Sam was right. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled Sam toward him into a hug. Still saying nothing, as he listened to the young hunter's sobs.

**XXX**

A polite cough alerted Phillip to the fact that he was no longer alone with Dean. He turned sharply, it was the female nurse.  
"I'm sorry to disturb you Mr Martinson, I just need to do Dean's checks and then the porters will be here to take him down for his scan."  
Phillip nodded,  
"Of course."  
He stepped back, watching the nurse as she read the various pieces of equipment attached to Dean. As she worked, she glanced at Phillip.  
"You and Dean must be very close, you obviously care a lot about him."  
Phillip nodded.  
"Oh yes. The boy means a great deal to me. He is a very special young man, very special indeed."

Jean smiled.  
"He's lucky to have you looking out for him. Are you staying in town?"  
"Er…Actually, I have yet to find accommodation. I don't suppose you could recommend anywhere suitable? I would like to remain close by."  
"Well…There's the Highfields Hotel. It's got quite a good reputation. Or, if you want to stay close, we _do_ have a couple of rooms that we can accommodate relatives in. They're basic, you know, a bed, small wardrobe, an armchair. But, they _are_ both ensuite and they have drink making facilities and a small T.V. I could book you into one of those?"  
Phillip smiled at the woman broadly.  
"Why, that would be ideal er…Jean. I am most grateful. I would actually appreciate the opportunity to freshen up whilst my nephew has his investigations."  
Jean returned Phillip's smile.  
"That's settled then. Once the porters collect Dean I'll take you to your room myself."

**XXX**

Jean had made her way back to the ward and Phillip was finally alone in the relative's accommodation. He pulled out a cell phone and dialled. The phone was answered in three rings. Had Jean still been present, she would have noted the change in Phillip's voice. Now when he spoke it was clear from his tone that he was a man in authority, a man used to having his instructions obeyed without question.  
"Get everything ready. I want the boy moved tonight. You will enter via the emergency exit door and enter through the back stairs. I will ensure the door is open for you. When you arrive, come up to the third floor, I will meet you there. Don't worry about the ward staff, I will deal with them. I will be expecting you at one a.m. Understand?"

Once his instructions had been confirmed, Phillip cut the call. He walked over to the double bed and lay down on it, his hands behind his head. He gave a satisfied sigh.  
"Dean Winchester. Soon you and I will fulfil our destiny."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	12. Chapter 12

_A.N. A long chapter this time around. Message to LoveSupernatural : OMG! Blushes galore! I don't deserve that, but thank you! Also, I _am_ going to make time to thank everyone individually for your comments and support cos you've all been brill :D_

* * *

"Out of Control"

**CHAPTER 12**

In his dream Dean felt as if he were floating, his feet hovering just inches above the ground. He seemed to be moving along, skimming down a road that was surrounded by buildings on both sides. It was night and the only light came from a half moon, all the buildings were in darkness and there were no signs of life. As he travelled he noticed himself passing what appeared to be an old abandoned hospital which, for some reason, gave him a feeling of discomfort. Within the dream he felt himself speed up, eager to get past the creepy building with it's dark windows that caused Dean to feel like the building was watching him menacingly. His journey came to a halt as his feet touched solid ground and Dean found himself staring at a brick wall. Against the grey of the bricks, Dean noticed areas of black. Somehow he knew with certainty that those darker stains were his own blood. The sound of someone else walking up behind him caused Dean to turn, and he looked up into the face of the man who had hurt him. Dean shook his head.  
"No…..No more."  
Sad eyes looked straight at him, the man gave a half smile.  
"Say please."

A lightening bolt of pain suddenly shot throughout Dean's upper body, and he awoke to hear himself cry out.  
"Whoa there buddy! It's ok. Calm down Dean. We're just positionin' you ready to lift you over onto the scanner."  
"Jeeze! He damn near gave me heart failure yelling like that, I thought he was out of it!"  
"You were dreamin' there, weren't you buddy? We're gonna try for that lift again, all you need do is let us take the strain. Understand Dean?"  
"Where am I?"  
"You're still in the hospital, we've just brought you down for an MRI scan, ok bud?"  
"It hurts."  
"We'll be as quick as we can then you can rest again."  
"Yeah dude. All _you_ gotta do is lay there all nice an' still an' the scanner'll do the rest. You scared the crap outta me though when you yelled! Nearly made me shit my pants man!"

**XXX**

Sam eased himself out of Bobby's embrace and sat for a moment, gathering himself together.  
"You ok now son?"  
Sam shrugged,  
"Not really, but I'll do."  
Sam's expression was serious when he met Bobby's eyes.  
"I'm glad you're here Bobby…."  
The older hunter waved away Sam's gratitude.  
"Where else would I be? The amount of trouble you two idjits get yourselves into? _Someone_ has to babysit the pair of you!"  
Sam grinned.  
"Yeah, just like someone has to look out for the old folk!"  
Bobby gave a dignified _huff _in response.  
"Whatever, I know you're right about needing a plan Bobby. The way I see it, the first job is to find out what ward Dean is on."  
"Yup, but we can narrow the field., seein' as how he was hurt badly enough to need an op. I figure that means Dean's either on the ICU, or he's on a surgical ward."  
"Bobby….."  
"I know son. I'm not sayin' anythin' about you….I'm just thinkin' through the facts. There's not gonna be any problem me walking into the hospital, our friendly admissions clerk works the night shift. I'll start by checkin' out the surgical wards first. If Dean isn't there and he's still on the ICU…well…that kinda makes things trickier when it comes to getting' him outta there!"

Sam stared at Bobby, fighting to keep his voice calm and reasonable."  
"I'm getting the feeling this part will be a one man show. What am I supposed to do? Just sit and knit myself a scarf?"  
"Sam. I'm truly sorry. I am, but we daren't risk some eagle eyed hospital staff seeing you and puttin' in a quiet call to the Sheriff. Getting' Dean out later will need us both. While I'm doin' the reccie, I'll try to pick us up some gear."  
"Gear?"  
"Yeah. You know. A couple of white coats…unless, of course, you'd prefer the open back nightie?"  
"No thanks, I'll pass!"  
"The only tricky part is gonna be hijackin' a wheelchair, but I can't see Dean walkin' out under his own steam; can you?"  
"I wouldn't count on it. He can be a stubborn ass!"  
"You don't say!"  
"So. If you _do_ get to Dean, are you going to let him know we're both here?"  
"If I get close enough. That alright?"  
"Guess it'll have to be. At least it'll reassure him that he's not alone. So, I guess we need to think about what we do between times?"  
Bobby smirked.  
"Can't say as I'm certain what I'll do to pass time, but _you _need all the rest and sleep you can get before we go get his Lordship; so I'm thinking we find somewhere to book in to, just not the motel you and Dean were at. That ok with you?"  
"Would it make any difference if I said no?...Thought not."

**XXX**

As Sam and Bobby pulled back into the hospital car park, it was to discover many more vehicles now parked up, both staff and visitors. There now being no space next to Bobby's truck, they had to park the Impala in a space two rows back. Sam looked up and walked with Bobby back to the truck. Once again he slid into the passenger seat and watched as Bobby removed his baseball cap and desperately tried to tidy his hair using his fingers as a comb. Next he changed his favourite check flannel over shirt for a clean dark blue cotton one. Standing back, he spread his arms and turned slightly this way and that for Sam's approval.  
"Well? Think I look average enough not to stand out?"  
Sam smiled,  
"Bobby…I think you achieve Mr Average _whatever_ you wear!"  
Bobby gave Sam a "Pah" in response.  
"Right Mr Comedian, watch out for me coming back, look for signs of anyone followin' me or takin' too much of an interest. I'll be as quick as I can. Anythin' you want me to tell Dean?"  
"Er…yeah. Tell him… Tell him, you know….."  
Bobby nodded his understanding.  
"Ok. I'll tell him that. If you don't hear from me or see me in an hour, get a hold of Jod…I mean, the Sheriff, in Sioux Falls and have her sound the alarm."  
"Will do. Now go get yourself inside and find my brother."

**XXX**

The hospital foyer at this time of day was very different to how it had been at dawn; there seemed to be hoards of humanity; either walking by fast and looking very important and as if they had definite places to be, to a middle aged couple embracing whilst they sobbed heartbrokenly in a corner. Other people were either buying "Get Well" cards or flowers from the hospital shop, whilst yet more had sat themselves in the voluntarily run café and were hunched up over hot drinks.

By the lifts, there were both hospital staff and visitors waiting around. Bobby found it stupidly easy to mingle into this group. As he too waited for the lift, he checked out the floor guide hanging on one of the walls. According to the guide there were two surgical wards, one for general surgery and one set up for the more complex cases. Bobby decided to head for the general surgical ward first. He latched onto a small group of people who, judging by the conversations amongst them, were clearly heading up to the general surgery ward themselves. Hurrying, Bobby elbowed his way after them and into the one of the slow moving lifts along with them. The floor guide inside the lift showed Bobby that he and his group were heading up to the second floor.

As they reached their floor and piled out of the lift, Bobby hung back a little from the other visitors, letting them walk onto the ward first, taking up the attention of the staff. Bobby then casually strolled over to the bed board, checking all the patient names. He muttered under his breath, seeing no one named Dean. Turning to leave, he was spotted by one of the nursing staff.  
"Sir? Can I help you? Who is it you're here to see?"  
Consummate hunter that he was, Bobby remained completely unfazed as he smiled at the young woman.  
"Thanks, but I'm fine. Fool that I am, I got out on the wrong floor. Now I've got to wait for that damn lift again."  
The nurse grinned.  
"Easy mistake to make. I've done it a few times, and I _work_ here! What floor were you after?"  
"Next one up."  
"Oh. Well, you could use the stairs if you want? I'll show you where they are."

**XXX**

Dean was beginning to get frustrated at his uncle's apparent reluctance to answer Dean's questions about who he was, where he came from, what happened to his parents and the thousand other things he wanted to know.  
"Dean, my boy. I really don't think it's a good idea to overload you with information. You need to concentrate on regaining your strength. It's too soon. You shouldn't be talking so much. The doctors had to re-locate your jaw."  
"Screw that! I don't get it! Why won't you just answer? Don't you understand? I'm lost here. I don't remember anything, I don't remember you! All I'm getting is flashes of the attack.  
"Hush. Calm yourself. This hysteria simply won't do you any good son."  
Phillip reached forward, intending to place a hand on Dean's shoulder. Angry and confused, Dean tried to turn onto his side, away from his uncle. He regretted it instantly, his hiss of pain only serving to increase his uncle's fussing. Dean reached his limit.  
"Go away. Just leave me alone."  
"Dean…"  
"I want you out of here. What the fuck do I have to do to get rid of y..."

Dean's eyes opened wide in shock as Phillip clamped one hand roughly over Dean's mouth as he pushed down hard onto Dean's surgical wound with his other hand. Dean writhed, trying to escape, tears forming in response to the hot waves of hurt shooting out from the force being applied to his abdomen. Phillip's face was twisted in fury, his eyes mere inches from Deans.  
"_You little shit_. You do _not_ tell me what to do. You're nothing but scum, _understand_? You're mine you little bastard. Hear me? I _own_ you!"

As Phillip snarled his venom at Dean, his spittle sprayed over Dean's face. Dean's breathing became panicked, the pain constant, his ability to cry out smothered.  
"Now. Why don't you get some sleep and this will all be forgotten later."  
Dean suddenly felt his eyelids grow heavy. He tried to fight of a growing weariness. Even through his hurt, he felt his eyes close and, finally, he fell into a deep sleep.

Phillip straightened up and wiped spit from the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at the sleeping figure of Dean in pure disgust.  
"I will soon have what I want from you scum…Then you die."  
Returning to the role of good uncle, Phillip once more took his place sitting by Dean's bed, as though determined to keep Dean safe.  
Phillip didn't notice the other man who, at that moment, peered into the room through the glass panel in the door before hurriedly moving away. Bobby walked as quickly as he dared off the main ward area and back out to the lifts, a grim expression on his face.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	13. Chapter 13

_A.N. Definitely on the home run now, only two more chapters after this one. **Be** **warned,** more of Phillip Martinson's nasty side starting to come out! Enjoy (hopefully)._

* * *

"_Out of Control"_

**CHAPTER 13**

Martinson felt certain that someone was about to enter Dean's room, but when he turned expectantly, the door remained closed. His many years had taught him never to ignore his instincts, Martinson stood and walked to the door. Opening it he looked both left and right. Nothing appeared out of place. The nurses were sat writing up patient records at their station, he heard the sound of the drinks trolley being brought onto the ward, someone's visitor, an older looking guy with a beard, was stood waiting for the lift in the entranceway, a junior doctor walked past hurriedly, giving Martinson a nod of acknowledgement.

Martinson closed the door and went to sit by Dean's bed again, a slight frown on his face. It was rare that his feelings were wrong. He wondered if he should contact his men to pick him and Dean up earlier, rather than wait for their agreed quieter time of one a.m.? For a while his amber eyes stared unblinkingly at his sleeping target with some regret. Perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to become so caught up in the moment and, as a result, not have stepped in sooner to tell the younger brother_ Enough_?

Martinson internally berated himself for enjoying the scene as he had. He couldn't help but smile though, as he remembered the thrill of standing in the shadows and watching the pain and hurt being inflicted on Dean. Only stopping the bloody assault once Dean was down and out, then instructing the brother to return to the motel, go to sleep and _forget_. In the event. Martinson had needed to slink even further into the shadows in order to "relive" himself; staring at Dean's battered body until he came to a whimpering release.

Satisfying his own sadism had lead to Dean being hurt more than he had intended and _that_, in turn, made the prospect of moving Dean so soon after surgery a more risky venture. Still staring at Dean, Martinson shook his head _No_…._the pleasure you gave me, my boy, that was a price worth paying._

**XXX**

Bobby had only taken a few steps out of the main hospital entrance but watching him, Sam could already see the tension and fury emanating from Bobby. It was openly signalled in how he walked, the way he held his head, the clenched fists as he all but quick marched across to where Sam was waiting. Reading Bobby's body language inflamed the spark of fear and worry that Sam had been trying so hard to contain, and he opened the passenger door of the truck, meaning to leap out and run to meet Bobby half way so that he could find out what was wrong as quickly as possible. It was the look that Bobby shot across to him when Bobby heard the sound of the truck door opening which curtailed Sam's eagerness, freezing him in place. Bobby picked up his pace, flinging open the driver's side door so that it almost bounced back to hit him in the butt as Bobby threw himself into the driver's seat.

Discretion being the better part of valour, Sam forced himself to wait for Bobby to start the conversation, watching as Bobby dug under his seat. Producing a battered old drinking flask, Bobby took a good swig from it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand whilst holding out the flask to Sam.  
"S'whiskey."  
Sam looked at the proffered flask, tempted, then shook his head. Bobby, however, had another deep glug before replacing the flask lid and shoving it back under his seat.  
"Bobby?...Please. Tell me what's happened. Did you see Dean? Is he ok? Bobby?"  
Instead of answering straight away, Sam jumped in his seat as Bobby thumped the dashboard.  
"Yeah. I caught sight of Dean, but he had company."  
"Is Dean ok? You've seen the fake uncle, haven't you? Did he see you? What does he look like? Jesus, Bobby!"  
"Yeah. Yeah. Nope. Only saw the back of him."  
"Fine…...I get it. Great. I'll just sit here and wait for you to decide you're ready to share then."  
"Oh…..stop gettin' your damn frillies in a knot! Ok. First, Deans not in the ICU, he's on floor three, it's a surgical ward."

Sam's levels of anxiety immediately dropped a notch on hearing the news.  
"That's the good news. The even better news is they've got him in a single room."  
"Bad news being?"  
"Fake uncle's sat in the room with him."  
"Could you see Dean from where you were?"  
Bobby hesitated, turned away from Sam to stare out of the window in an obvious avoidance of eye contact.  
"Bobby! I'm hanging by a really thin thread here. Just tell me for cryin' out loud. I need to know!"

Bobby's gaze shifted until he was sat staring down at his hands laying in his lap.  
"Yeah. I got sight of Dean. Looked like he was sleepin'. He's attached to a monitor and hitched up to a drip, but he's not on any ventilator."  
"But, that's great!"  
"Hell, yeah!"  
"So, what _haven't_ you told me?"  
Bobby finally met Sam's questioning eyes.  
"Sammy….He looks a mess. His faced looked around two thirds bruise, there's some swelling. Looks like he's needed some stitching up as well."

Sam appeared to visibly shrink into himself and all colour drained from his face at Bobby's words. He lifted both hands, looking at his raw and damaged knuckles, and a fine tremor spread throughout his upper body. Bobby moved to reach a hand out to the younger man, only to have it roughly knocked aside by Sam.  
"_**Don't**_…Touch…..Me!  
Sam fumbled with the door on his side, all but collapsing out of the truck. He slid down the side of the vehicle, ending up sat on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest and his head in his hands. Bobby muttered under his breath before also getting out of the truck and walking around to where Sam sat. The rain had long since eased off, and the sunlight seemed at odds with Sam's distress. Bobby's knees cracked as he squatted down beside the boy.

"Look Sam. I'm sorry I had to tell you, but It wouldn't do any good to just let you go in to get your brother outta there and have you freeze up 'cos I didn't warn you first about how bad he looks. Sam? C'mon Sam. Don't fold on me. I…_Dean_…needs you to be up to doin' this. It's not your fault Sam, and I swear…you even_ try_ sayin' it is and see where it gets you! Sammy? C'mon son. You can't just sit here like this. I need you to get back in the truck. We've got some planning to do and your big brother to rescue."

It took a while, but as Bobby spoke, Sam's shaking began to subside. Bobby waited.

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**


	14. Chapter 14

_A.N. So, here it is, the penultimate chapter! If you're still with me in this, give yourself a pat on the back (or a cookie) for your tenacity and patience! The __**final chapter**__ will be up during this week, then I am _definitely_ going to take the break I promised myself after my last story! _

_Oh, and just in case you're wondering, the little shit who broke into my home and stole things that I can never replace, as well as doing who knows what to my dogs (as you might know, I had to have my beloved boy put to sleep a week later) is in custody on remand whilst the police compile the evidence and the CPS decide whether there is enough to take him to trial. I've already told them that I want Restorative Justice, but not the usual kind. I have a much better idea of what Restorative Justice should be! As expected, no sign of the things this malfunctioning product of disease riddled sperm stole._

"Out of Control"

* * *

**CHAPTER 14**

Whilst the emotionally exhausted younger man slept on a comfortable hotel bed for a change, Bobby kept at his job doing what he did best, research. After some hours of following convoluted links which had him pulling up sites and information that the vast majority of lay people wouldn't even dream existed; Bobby took a break. He stood and stretched, then headed into the ensuite. Splashing cold water onto his face, he looked at himself in the mirror.  
"Hell fire, Singer. These two kids are putting years on you!"  
Coming out of the bathroom, he looked longingly over to the super king bed where Sam lay under the fresh clean sheets, sending out soft snoring noises. Bobby sighed and wandered back to the sofa placed by the hotel room window. The coffee table was scattered with sheets of paper bearing Bobby's scrawled notes. Various screwed up and discarded sheets lay on the soft oriental rug the coffee table stood on. Turning to the tall sash window, Bobby stood for a while just looking down at the main street, watching townspeople passing by, going about their daily business. Eventually he returned to his place on the sofa and stared at the latest screen that he had up. Bobby hit "home", cracked his knuckles, and prepared to start over.

He decided to keep it simple this time, and eventually he sat back, staring at the web-site his key word search had lead him to. An animated skeletal hand beckoned to him with one finger, inviting him to enter the site of the _"Necromancers' Guild"._

**XXX**

It was early evening when a hand gently shook Dean's shoulder and a voice which was becoming familiar called on him to wake. Dean's eyes gradually opened in response, and he smiled when he saw his uncle's face peering at him. With a lifetime of memories wiped clean, his uncle was now becoming the only constant and recognisable thing in Dean's world.  
"Hi."  
Martinson smiled.  
"Hello yourself, young man. Your doctor is on his way to see both of us. He has your test results. Shall I help you to sit up a little more?"

Dean scanned the doctor's face carefully when he first came into the room, looking for any signs that the news was bad. He tried not to let his hopes raise too much when the man smiled as he greeted Dean and his uncle. Dean watched his uncle who had stood to greet the doctor, and noted his neutral expression. The doctor sat himself down at the bottom of Dean's bed.  
"Right Dean, I have good news for you. Neither the EEG nor the MRI detected anything abnormal at all. Both tests came back perfectly clear. Obviously, that _does_ mean that we haven't identified any physiological reason for your amnesia."  
Dean frowned slightly, not quite certain whether that _was_ good news, or not.  
"So...what now Doc? Is my memory ever going to come back?"  
The doctor patted Dean's leg.  
"Well. I would say that, because you don't have any brain trauma, there isn't any physical reason why it shouldn't. Our hope is that over time, and especially once you are home surrounded by familiar things and people, things will begin to trigger memories until you, finally, have full recall."  
"Over time?"  
"I know, it sounds vague and I'm sorry I can't be more specific. If it helps, there _are_ cases similar to yours where, once the person goes home, something triggers and the whole of their lost memories return all at once."  
Dean and Martinson glanced at each other briefly.  
"So…in that case...how soon can I go home?"

The doctor grinned broadly.  
"For some reason, I _thought_ that might be your next question. Let's see...The bruising and swelling to your face will, eventually, heal of it's own accord. You will need to have those stitches removed in a couple of weeks, but you don't need to have that done in hospital. The bruising to your torso will also disappear over time. We did have some concerns about potential fractured ribs, that said, we don't wrap them anymore. It's not considered helpful and can restrict your breathing to the point whereby you may go on to develop secondary respiratory problems. So, fractured or not, there's no real treatment other than pain control. We re-aligned your dislocated jaw whilst you were in theatre. The major issue is the abdominal damage. Any abdominal surgery is regarded as major surgery Dean. You have to remember, we've had to slice through your stomach muscles in order to find and deal with the bleed site. Because of that, we generally like to keep patients in for around five days. That is, assuming no other problems develop. Even if things go on just fine, what you are able to do for yourself is going to be very restricted for the next three months. So, for example, you won't be allowed to lift anything more than the equivalent weight to a cup of coffee for five days, after which you can start to slowly build up your tolerances over the next twelve weeks. Seriously Dean. Don't think you're going to be walking out of here even when you _are_ discharged. Just you wait until you have to cough or sneeze, then you'll understand why! Obviously, the other thing we need to do is ensure that you don't develop any infections in your wound sites. Oh, and we'd need to see you eating without vomiting, and to be certain that your, er….._eliminations _are ok. I am also having the Morphine pump disconnected later and I'll be prescribing it in tablet form. Finally, just to _really_ cheer you up, the local police would like to speak to you. I've told the Sheriff that you are suffering total amnesia, but they'd still appreciate seeing you. I've arranged for them to be here tomorrow morning. Ok?"  
Dean gave a long sigh before looking at the doctor with pleading eyes.  
"Please….is there any way I can get outta here sooner? "  
Martinson grasped Dean's hand.  
"Dean, the doctor knows best, you and I can talk about this later.

**XXX**

Weary and worn out, needing Sam's help but not wanting to wake him just yet, Bobby had crawled onto the bed and lay on top of the bedding next to Sam, allowing himself a couple of hours sleep. When he woke, Sam was still out of it. Bobby let the younger man sleep on whilst he made coffee, then taking a cup over to Sam, he nudged the boy awake.  
"Sammy? C'mon, rise and shine, coffee's ready and I'm gonna order room service."

Having booked just himself into the hotel, Bobby had then sneaked Sam into the room. That made it necessary for Sam to stay out of sight in the bathroom whilst the food and drinks Bobby had ordered was delivered. He waited until Bobby rapped on the door, giving him the all clear, before coming out of hiding. Once the pair were settled, Bobby logged back onto the guild site, turning the laptop so that Sam could see the screen.  
"I need a hand accessing this site. It'll only let me get so far, then after that it's registered members only; but you can't register on line anywhere, you have to request permission to attend one of their meetings, and_ that_ means being able to pass yourself off as a Necromancer."  
Sam stared at the title on the webb page Bobby brought up.  
"What the f…? This's gotta be a joke, right?"  
Bobby shook his head.  
"Nope, no joke. There seems to be two separate layers to the site. There's the public pages, all well and good. But behind that? That's where I'm guessin' things get more interestin' to the likes of you and me. I couldn't hack my way into the system. Wondered if you'd give it a go?"  
"Sure. Any idea what you're looking for?"

**XXX**

Dean thumped his head back against his pillow in frustration.  
"Five freakin' days? _Shit_!"  
Martinson removed his glasses and looked at Dean consideringly.  
"What? Why're you lookin' at me like that?"  
"Do you trust me Dean?"  
Dean was surprised by the question.  
"Of _course_ I do. You're the _only_ person I trust. Why?"  
Martinson leaned closer to Dean.  
"How would you feel about sneaking out of here tonight?"

Dean stared at his uncle with even greater surprise.  
"You…..you'd help me do that?"  
"I think the sooner I get you home, the better. I can arrange for a private nursing team to take care of you. You can lay in bed just as easily at home as you can here. I already have my staff close by ready to take us away from here. What do you say son?"  
Dean grinned.  
"Hell yes!"  
"That's my boy. I will leave you for now but I will be back just after midnight. I am so looking forward to getting you home, where I can take care of you properly."  
Dean shook his head in amazement.  
"Is this wicked side normal for you? 'Cos I'd never have guessed it!"  
Martinson stood and looked down at Dean.  
"Oh yes. There is a lot you don't know about me Dean, but I am certain it will all come back to you very soon."

Martinson was delighted as he left Dean. The fool being so compliant made things so much easier, he wouldn't need to bother incapacitating him now that Dean was a willing participant. As he made his way back to the relative's room, Martinson replayed the conversation with Dean, chuckling at how completely Dean had believed the crap about being cared for at home. _Oh yes. He would be taken care of alright,_ _very much so! _Martinson licked his lips. By this time tomorrow night he himself would be fully immortal, invincible; and what was left of Dean Winchester would be dead.

**XXX**

Bobby paced the room whilst Sam continued to look for a way in to the private area of the guild site. Sam looked up at him.  
"That pacing? Not helpful Bobby. Isn't there someone you could call on who might know something?"  
Bobby stopped in mid stride.  
"Actually, that's not a bad idea! Not _just_ a pretty face, are you? You ok if I go out for a bit?"  
Sam tilted his head, looking curiously at Bobby.  
"Yeah, sure. Mind sharing what you're up to old man?"  
"Like you said, there's a call I think it might help to make. As well as that, I figure if we're getting' Dean out of the hospital tonight, there's stuff we're gonna need to have ready. Reckon I'm going shoppin', kinda anyway. Turn your cell on, only answer if it's me. Keep at it with that web site. You're looking for any info on ways to protect against, or at least counter, Necromancy spells."

Grabbing his jacket, Bobby headed toward the door, stopping again before he left.  
"Oh….an' if it happens to give us any other ways to kill one of them bastards, that'd be good too! I'll be back way before then, but what say we aim to be at the hospital around midnight ready to get your brother out. That's normally when the wards are quietest. Ok?"  
Sam nodded.  
"Midnight. Fine by me. Don't get caught up in any trouble while you're out. Call me once you're on your way back and, don't be late, or I'll be goin' to get Dean without you!"  
Bobby smiled broadly.  
"Stop yer fussin' boy. Just you think on the fact that we'll soon have your brother snatched from under fake uncle's nose, and safely back at my place."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N._ _Just so you know, there is a genuine web site for _"The Necromancer's Guild"!_ Came across it when I was doing some background research for "The Way of the Dead"._

Reviews help get the **final **chapter written quicker ;P  
Chick xx


	15. Chapter 15

_A.N. So, maybe I was too hopeful, can any of you forgive me? It's turned out that this isn't the final chapter after all! Can I get away with calling it **Final Chapter Part A**? It's not my fault really. When I start writing a chapter I think I have a plan, but then I carry on writing and end up with something totally different that I hadn't intended and never saw coming! Honestly, I know I keep stressing it, but truthfully, even** I** don't know how things will end, until I get there. In fact, I had no idea that there was a Necromancer involved when I wrote the very first chapter. Weird eh? Sorry, sorry, sorry. I totally intend Chap 16 to finish everything! (I hope).  
__Chick x_

"Out of Control"

* * *

**CHAPTER 15**

Sam was feeling thoroughly pleased with himself and smiling at the thought of telling Bobby that hacking into the web sites secure area had been a piece of cake. Ok, so he'd be lying, but what the hell? He stared in fascination at the list of names on the page in front of him, not taking his eyes of them as he fumbled around with one hand to grab his ringing phone. A split second glance confirmed Bobby's ID.  
"Hey Bobby. You ok?"  
"Just parking up outside the hotel. How 'bout you?"  
" Oh…I'm cool. You need to get up here, you're gonna love this."  
"Love what exactly?"  
"Bet you can't guess how many of the Whitehouse permanent staff are also Necromancers?"  
"Huh?...You mean to tell me there's some who _aren't_? Get that coffee on will you?"

As Sam opened the door, Bobby handed him a tool bag.  
"What's this?"  
"Supplies. Things that Dean's gonna need. Painkillers, sterile dressings and such."  
"You've been back to the hospital?"  
Bobby nodded, walking past Sam and heading straight to the lap top.  
"So. What've you found on this thing?"

Sam was still in the doorway, staring after Bobby in amazement whilst clutching the bag full of stolen medical supplies. Once again, as he often did, Bobby had casually and unintentionally reminded Sam that he _too_ was a Hunter, and he hadn't survived _this_ long purely on good luck. Bobby glanced back at Sam.  
"Well? You stayin' or goin'?"  
Sam shut the door. As he walked past Bobby to pour the coffee, Bobby was muttering happily to himself as he scrolled through more names.  
"Hah! I knew_ he_ had to be into something. All those folk trippin' over themselves to show their shabby laundry and get to fighting on camera. _Has_ to be some kinda control spell he's usin'. Or mebbe somethin' that lowers inhibitions?"

**XXX**

Martinson showered and changed into another very expensive looking black suit. Planning on eating out, he substituted his tie for a dark green bowtie before extracting an antique gold pocket watch, complete with heavy gold Albert chain, from it's original box and clipping it in place. Satisfied with his appearance, he contacted his team.  
"Have the car outside the hospital main entrance in 10 minutes. I feel like dining out this evening. Our destination is the Highfields Hotel."

Sam was stretched out on the bed, trying to banish boredom and make time pass by scanning brochures extolling the many and thrilling visitor destinations that the local area had on offer.  
"Hey, Bobby? There's a free display at one of the farms on the outskirts of town. It's about the history of tractors. Fancy going?"  
There was no reply from the older man who was still searching through the necromancer's web-site.  
"Bobby? You listenin'?"  
Bobby grunted back to Sam without looking up.  
"Why? You sayin' anythin' interestin'? Get your ass over here, and bring that piece of paper you found in your pocket.."  
"Finally! What do you need me to do?"  
"Got a sharp knife on you?...Good. I need you to pass me the paper, then stick your thumb with the knife and squeeze three drops of blood into the middle of the script. Just three, understand?"  
"Yessir. Three drops Sir. Comin' right up."  
"That's good. Now, pass me a saucer...No, moron! Not one you've spilt coffee on, a clean one! Ok, in my overnight bag, small flask of Holy water."  
Whilst Sam went to find the relevant flask, Bobby took a lighter out of his pocket and held the flame to the paper, dropping it onto the saucer once it was alight.  
"_Fac it sciam…Fac it sciam…Fac it sciam."  
_The flames died, leaving only ash behind. Bobby took the flask of Holy water from Sam, then nodded in the direction of the bed.  
"You'd better lie down son. I'm guessin' this won't be an easy ride for you."  
Sam hesitated, watching as Bobby carefully poured three drops of holy water onto the small amount of ash left on the saucer and proceeded to mix the two together with a finger, repeating again the Latin phrase.  
"Go...onto the bed now. If I'm right, you're about to get your memories back.

**XXX**

Sam looked up anxiously as Bobby stood over him holding the saucer containing the mixture of ash and Holy water. Bobby gave him a half smile.  
"Nervous?"  
Sam nodded, his mouth suddenly too dry to speak.  
"Me too...I'm gonna use this mix to mark you on your forehead, ok? Just…Just try to tell yourself I'm here with you, whatever happens. You good to go?"  
Sam's response was nothing more than a whisper.  
"Yes."  
He closed his eyes as Bobby dipped his finger into the mixture and reached down to daub it on to the centre of Sam's forehead. Both men held their breath. After a few seconds, Sam opened his eyes again. He and Bobby looked at each other. Bobby frowned.  
"You feel anythin'? Anythin' at all?"  
Sam shrugged.  
"I can feel where you put the stuff on me, but that's..."  
The sudden change in Sam was so dramatic and so unexpected that Bobby couldn't stop himself from jumping back from the bed a couple of steps, only curbing his reaction when the howling began.

As Sam arched and thrashed around on the bed, his eyes screwed closed, Bobby found himself having to battle to keep a hand clamped over Sam's mouth in an attempt to muffle the animal sounds the younger man made. A flailing arm managed to catch Bobby a hard whack in the face, nearly dislodging him. Throughout Sam's seizure, Bobby kept up a steady stream of reassuring words and noises, not knowing whether Sam heard them or not. Eventually Sam's cries began to quieten and his muscles started to relax as the seizure appeared to slow until, finally, it came to an end.

Relief took over and Bobby sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, waiting for his pounding heart to calm down. Sam lay quiet apart from the sound of him panting for breath. Bobby twisted round to check on him, cupping Sam's cheek with one hand.  
"Sammy…Hey kid, you with me? Sammy? C'mon son, let me see you open your eyes. Look at me Sam, c'mon now."  
Slowly Sam responded, his gaze finally settling on Bobby's worried frown.  
"That's it lad. You're doin' good. It's all over, it's done. How d'you feel son? Do you remember anything'?"  
Tears filled Sam's eyes, spilling over and tracking down the sides of his face until they soaked into his hair.  
"I remember it all."

Before Bobby had chance to respond, Sam turned onto his side, his back to Bobby. Curling himself up into a foetal position, Sam's sobs became heavy and harsh.

**XXX**

Not knowing what else to do, Bobby stayed true to his word and sat with Sam, a hand resting on Sam's shoulder as he waited for the lad to quieten. Whilst he was patiently waiting, Bobby's thoughts drifted to the one who was the cause of so much hurt to his boys and he made a silent promise; _Tonight, Necromancer man, __**you**__ are going down, no matter __**what**__ it takes!_

Eventually and with encouragement, Sam's cries reduced down to hiccupping breaths. Bobby fetched a glass of water and a couple of headache tablets, then sat down beside Sam again.  
"Here son. Pain killers. I'm guessing you've got the mother of all headaches about now? Can you sit up? Don't want you choking on me…..Let me help you….there, that's better!"  
Bobby helped Sam to slowly unfurl and sit upright, back against the headboard. Sam continued to tremble slightly, his eyes looked red and sore. He accepted the water and the headache tablets., handing the glass back to Bobby once he had taken the pills.  
"Thank you."  
Putting the glass to one side, Bobby sat down next to Sam again.  
"Feel like tellin' me what you remember? There might be somethin' useful about it, you know? For later."  
Sam appeared to stare into the distance.

"I was tired, so I told Dean that I was heading back to the motel. Dean was relaxed, he decided to stay a while longer. When I got outside, a man appeared out of the shadows, said my name. I recognised him. He'd been in the bar. I remembered we'd bumped each other earlier."  
"This was the same guy who slipped the paper into your pocket? The Necromancer?"  
"Yes. He told me I ought to hang around, wait outside for Dean. It…it seemed like a good idea, sensible. The guy kept talking, stuff about the weather, about the night sky, about how I could finally give Dean the beating he deserved when he came out of the bar. It sounded such a reasonable idea! Next thing is Dean coming out of the bar. He saw me. I remember he looked surprised and worried, demanded to know if I was ok. Asked who the short guy was, and I just wanted to beat the crap out of him. So I did.  
He...he didn't fight back. He kept saying_ Stop Sammy, don't. It's me, Dean. Don't do this_. I remember the guy watching, smiling, telling me to hit Dean harder, then he wasn't there any more, but I carried on. I carried on until my knuckles were bleeding, until Dean went down, stopped moving, stopped making any sounds. I heard his, the Necromancer's voice. He told me to go back to the motel, told me to go to sleep, told me to forget what I'd just done. Oh God, Bobby...I didn't even stop to check if Dean was breathing. I just spat on him and walked away. Oh, Christ! I just left him there, laying on the floor covered in blood. I left him!

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_If you feel like reviewing, please don't be shy :D_

_Chick xx_


	16. Chapter 16

_A.N. I have to say, seriously,_ **Thank You** _for your amazing reviews! I'm sure I don't deserve them! Obviously, that doesn't mean you can't leave more if you want too ;P You've done my battered ego a power of good!_

_**Also,** my other half and I have met a young dog who was taken from "death row" in the pound by one of the local rescue centres. We decided to adopt him and we pick him up tomorrow. There is no dog in this world who can replace my Bryn boy, but we will love this one for himself and give him a good home. We are calling him Tarn and my other dog, Myka, has already been for a walk with him. When she first saw him I admit I filled up (again). She spotted him before us and raced across to him, only to then lower her tail which she had been furiously wagging when she realised it wasn't her brother Bryn. As this story began in anger at losing Bryn and is dedicated to him, I have used a photo of my boy as the illustration for it._

"Out of Control"

* * *

**CHAPTER 16**

All though the Highfields Hotel was decent, It was still uncommon to see a black classic Limousine glide in and come to a stop in the car park. Looking out of the lobby doors, the Maitre-D noted it's arrival, he immediately stood a little straighter, tugging at his already neat waistcoat. He strained to see just who was being chauffeured in such a vehicle.

An impressively large man climbed out of the front passenger seat and moved to open the door for the car's incumbent. A further, equally well built male emerged from the back of the car and stood for a moment, seemingly checking out the surroundings. Apparently satisfied, the man stepped away from the car, creating a clear line of sight for the Maitre-D as his curiosity peaked. Curiosity quickly turned to disappointment as, instead of the famous rock star or the beautiful young actress he had hoped for, a fairly short, bald headed and bespectacled, kind of chubby man clambered out of the Limo. Still, the Maitre-D was not slow to recognise the potential for a handsome tip when it presented and he moved smoothly forward ready to greet the unassuming man.

The man's escorts remained by him, one on each side. As they entered the hotel the Maitre-D wondered if the stranger might be a member of some foreign royalty? The Maitre-D bowed his head, just in case.  
"Good evening Sir. May I welcome you to the Highfields Hotel. Would you and your, er…company, be intending to dine with us tonight?"

As it turned out, the group utilised two separate tables within the restaurant. The possible royal had a table to himself, whilst his men shared another table positioned near, although not directly next to, their employer. The Maitre-D beckoned over his most experienced waiter.  
"I want you to concentrate solely on that man and his…escorts. The rest of the staff can deal with the other diners. Give them your undivided attention, and make sure you recommend only the most expensive things on the menu, got it? Now, get over there and impress him. Pretend your continued employment here depends on it, understand?"

**XXX**

Bobby gave Sam a look of concern.  
"You think you're gonna' be ok?"  
Sat up on the bed, Sam nodded.  
"I think so. Thanks. I'm gonna' shower. It might help clear my head a bit"  
"I'm assuming you won't be needing help with that?"  
"_God no!_ I'll manage."  
"Good, glad to hear it! I'll order up some food."

Sam looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, deciding that the number of times that he had looked better than he did right now, were many. He turned the shower on before slowly shedding his clothes. Grabbing the complimentary toiletries, he climbed under the blessedly hot water. There was no need for him to rush, the Highfields Hotel wasn't the kind of place which limited the hot water supply. For a while he stood, simply letting the water wash over him, and wishing it could sluice away the uncomfortable feeling of having been at the mercy of another person's will. Sam felt tainted, unclean, out of control. He felt the all too familiar sense of guilt, this time at allowing himself to become little more than a puppet, begin to palpate deep inside himself. He altered his term of reference, not a puppet, an _**evil **_puppet. One that willingly served whoever held the strings and so let them command him to do anything they wanted_. Even when that meant me coming so fucking close to killing the person that matters most to me in this crappy world. It shouldn't have happened. I should've been able to resist!_

Bobby had just placed his order for room service when he heard the solid _thump_ come from the ensuite. He quickly crossed to the door, not yet willing to open it.  
"Sam? You ok in there?"  
"M'fine. Be out in a minute."  
"Ok...great. Food's ordered."

Sam watched as splashes of water from the shower head caught the streak of scarlet blood, mixing with it and thinning it to pale pink which raced in droplets down the wall tiles and away. Turning his right hand over, Sam looked at the fresh areas of scraped skin on his knuckles which were the result of him punching the tiles, and wondered if Bobby would notice. Sam stayed in the bathroom a while longer, hesitant about facing Bobby, until eventually Bobby knocked again.  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm ok for Chrissake!"

Sam sighed as he heard Bobby muttering under his breath. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Sam was about to exit the ensuite when he heard a knock on the room door. He stood waiting quietly until the room service order had been delivered.  
"Ok, all clear….if you're ever plannin' on comin' outta there?"

**XXX**

The Necromancer had been pleasantly surprised, both the service and the food had been excellent. As he took a sip of his port, he caught the eye of his waiter who, once again, hurried to meet his every need. Martinson ordered coffee then pulled out his pocket watch. 10.00 p.m., just enough time to have his coffee before returning to the hospital, collecting his belongings from the relatives room and carrying out the necessary preparations prior to paying a friendly night time visit to the staff on Dean's ward.

**XXX**

Cleaned up and wearing fresh clothes, Sam both felt and looked better, even though Bobby could still see that the boy was quite pale. He decided against asking Sam why the knuckles on his right hand looked to have fresh grazing across them, instead pointing Sam at the food.  
"Get somethin' down you lad. It'll help."  
As Sam ate, he repeatedly glanced at his watch. He almost convinced himself that the battery was dead. It seemed that, according to his watch, time had come to a stand still.  
"Sam! Stop lookin' at your damn watch every few seconds, or I swear I'm gonna have to rip it off your wrist!"  
"I'm sorry. It's...I can't stand it Bobby! I just want to go get Dean and get him somewhere safe. Waiting is driving me insane."  
Bobby smiled sympathetically.  
" I get that. Well, we still need for things to have quietened down in the hospital, but I guess it won't hurt to move things forward just a bit, ok?"  
Sam nodded, giving Bobby a look of gratitude.  
"_But!_ I'm tellin' you now…when we get there, the plan stays the same. You'll be waitin' in the car till I bring Dean out."  
Sam couldn't help the small pout that appeared on his lips.  
"I still don't like it Bobby. I should be there helping you. What if you run into fake uncle? You'll need back up!"  
Bobby raised his eyes to the heavens then back to Sam.  
"Sam...I thought we'd agreed? Yeah, we've broken _part_ of the spell he cast on you and you've got your memories back. But like I said, that probably won't have affected the _other_ part. He'll likely still be able to control you, and I can't see it takin' him long to realise that _"Forget"_ ain't working, and maybe tellin' you to do somethin' else more physical instead, you dimwit! It's best we keep you outta' sight as long as we can. You just keep an eye out for Dean and me, and watch out for anythin' that looks out of place."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_A.N. So, in the next chapter, everyone is heading to the hospital (at last). I'm still undecided about which ending I'm going to go for out of the three (so far) potentials that I've come up with. That mean's it will be just as much of a surprise for me! :D_


	17. Chapter 17

_A.N. Arggggggh! Hit 2,500 words and realised I was going to have to split the finale into two chapters! Partly 'cos I was worried you all might think I was just going to leave the story and not bother finishing it (would never do that, not my style). Now there's going to be a battle for control of the computer between myself and my other half ._

"Out of control"

* * *

**CHAPTER 17**

Martinson had one of his men accompany him up to the room he had been using at the hospital. He handed the man his overnight luggage.  
"Take that to the car. I should be no more than a half hour. Park as unobtrusively as you can, but if anyone gets curious, be polite. Tell them you've brought a friend into the emergency department or something. Look for me opening the emergency exit door at the back stairs. I don't expect any problems, but if I _am_ longer than thirty minutes. Well, I _will_ expect a response. Understood?"  
"Understood Sir."

**XXX**

Sam was already packed. He'd also checked and re-checked his pistol, checked and counted his ammo supply; oiled and sharpened his short sword (three times), flicked his lighter on, off, on, off, on, off, and was now sat, attempting to look relaxed, on the sofa. Trouble was, he couldn't seem to stop jiggling one knee, biting at his nails, checking his watch even more often than before and generally giving off every sign that he was anything _but_ relaxed. Bobby chose to ignore him and steadily went about his own preparations until, finally, he was ready and anything which could possibly be traced back to them had been cleared out of the room.  
"That's it then Sam, time to go. Er…unless you wanna stay a bit longer? You know, chill some more?"  
Sam glared at Bobby.  
"That's a _no_ then. Ok. I'll go check out, see you down in the car park."

**XXX**

Alone once more, Martinson sat himself down on the one small and uncomfortable armchair which was in his room. He rested his forearms along the arms of the chair and closed his eyes. He began to carefully regulate his breathing, taking deeper and less frequent breaths, until there was a full minute between each inhalation and exhalation. At the same time, his heart rate slowed, until it matched his breaths, beating just once every 60 seconds. Martinson became still as stone as he entered into a deep self induced trance. He remained unmoving, a living statue, for five minutes then, with no increase in his respiratory rate or his heart beat, Martinson's eyes flicked open and he stood up. Turning, he walked towards the door.

The night staff were between patient checks and so sat together talking quietly at the nurses station. One of their colleagues appeared out of the ward kitchen carrying a tray of beverages and a plate of biscuits.  
"Right, who was it wanted sugar?"

The lift doors opened in the foyer area leading directly off of the ward. The three female and one male nurse looked up as Martinson walked on to the ward and strolled over toward them. As he drew closer, he smiled.  
"Good evening to you all. I'm afraid I couldn't sleep. I do hope it's not inconvenient, but I thought I may as well come and introduce myself to you. My name is Phillip Martinson. I'm Dean Martinson's uncle."  
The male nurse stood and held out his hand.  
"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr Martinson. My name's Danny, I'm a staff nurse and your nephew is in my group of patients. Difficulty sleeping must run in the family. Last time I looked in on Dean, he was still wide awake as well. I offered, but he didn't want anything to help him sleep."

Martinson laughed as he shook hands with the female nurses, giving each one a bow of his head.  
"Ladies. Delighted to meet you. Now, I must warn you to be careful around my nephew. He has an eye for the ladies and, I'm told, that they in return seem to have an eye for _him_!"  
As the staff duly laughed at Martinson's comment, the Necromancer pulled out his gold pocket watch and checked the time.  
"Goodness. Is it that time already?"  
He looked up and made brief, but intense, eye contact with each member of the unknowing night team.  
"I would say it's time to…_**sleep**_."

Swiftly and in the order in which Martinson had shaken their hands, the staff one by one fell into a deep state of sleep. The male nurse was the first to succumb, all muscle tone left his body and he folded silently onto the floor. As each nurse closed their eyes, Martinson's heart beat and respiratory rate increased that bit more, until all his vitals had completely normalised again. He gave the male nurse a prod with his toe, satisfied with the lack of response it got. Ignoring the closed door of Dean's room, Martinson moved quickly to the back stairs and began his decent.

**XXX**

Bobby's truck was closely followed by the Impala into the hospital car park where there was no difficulty in finding spaces to park the vehicles adjacent to each other. Bobby climbed out of the truck and walked around to the Impala where Sam sat with the driver's door open. Bobby was carrying a white lab coat slung over his arm. He put it on whilst he stood talking to Sam.  
"Ok. This is it son. Time to get your brother back. You gonna make sure the back seat's got blankets and stuff?"  
"Yeah, there were plenty of spares in the hotel room. I took a cushion off the sofa to use as a pillow, and I've got pain killers and water to hand. I'm more worried about _you._ We've no way to know if fake uncle's going to be in the room. At least if I'm with you, I could deal with him while you get Dean out."  
"Deal with him? How? You gonna start shooting up a hospital ward? And if you do, what exactly are you gonna shoot at? Not all Necromancers keep their souls in a locket boy. Hell, he might not even be carryin' his. I'm not an idjit Sam. If the man's with Dean I'll just have to come up with a way of gettin' him out of the room and keep him busy somehow."  
"Ok…how?"  
"I'm workin' on it."

**XXX**

Sat in the Limo which was by now parked in semi dark down the side of the hospital building, the driver turned to his two colleagues in the back.  
"He's here."  
A nearby emergency exit door had opened, Martinson stood silhouetted against the light and waved the men over. The two back seat passengers climbed out, checking that no one was watching before going to join their boss.  
"It's all clear on the ward. Anyone unexpected walks on, one of you can deal with them, _quietly_. There are wheelchairs in the adjacent foyer, we'll be bringing Winchester down this way."

One of the heavies looked puzzled.  
"In a wheelchair Boss?"  
Martinson looked back impassively at the man.  
"Yes. In a wheelchair. The boy's not going to simply trot down the stairs on foot, is he? You two will be carrying him in the chair. Oh…and do I need to spell out the consequences should you slip, trip or otherwise loose your grip on your cargo?"  
Both men answered _No Sir_ in unison.  
"Good. Follow me."

**XXX**

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He reached over and pressed the Morphine pump he'd been fitted with, quickly feeling the benefit of it's affects as his pain subsided, becoming bearable. He was becoming very anxious about his Uncle's plan to get him out of hospital. Wondering if it was really such a good idea, so soon after his surgery? How it shouldn't really be any problem for him to stay another couple of days, maybe even discharge himself officially. He glanced up at the clock. He was due for another check on his condition by Danny. He strained to listen, but couldn't hear any sounds that indicated the staff were moving to carry out their rounds. He _did_ hear the moans of a patient, but no voices to suggest the patient was being attended to. Something inside himself told him that things weren't right. Sounds he should be hearing were missing. Something was seriously off out on the ward. He tried to dismiss the thought that whatever was wrong had something to do with his uncle, but again a deep instinct told him he was right. His anxiety levels crept up a notch, along with the frustration of not knowing what was happening outside the door to his room. He looked at the canula in his wrist which kept him attached him to the pump.

Dean began by peeling off the stickers that were on his chest, then froze momentarily when the heart monitor's alarm activated. There was no sound of running footsteps in response to the alarm, just a couple of the other patients out on the ward shouting for the nursing staff to _Shut that_ _fuckin thing off_. Dean spotted the "power off" switch on the machine. Stretching out his arm as far as he could, the switch stubbornly remained annoyingly scant inches from his finger tips. The shout of one of the male patients demanding _Let the fucker die an' turn that_ _fucker off __**now,**_ caused other patients to start shouting back at the first. There was the sound of one woman beginning to cry. Gasping at the sudden sharp abdominal pain, Dean leaned to one side, gaining the extra inches and shutting the machine off. He immediately lay back against his pillows again panting. There was no doubt now that something had happened to the nurses, it being unlikely that they had simply decided to go home. Another female voice began to shout for a bed pan. The earlier male voice answered her with _Lady, get on an' piss yerself for fucks sake, an' let the rest of us get some sleep. _

Dean ignored the growing discontent out side his room; instead pulling out his canula and focusing all his concentration on the painful process of struggling to sit on the edge of his bed, feet on the floor, preparing to stand. He gritted his teeth and slowly began to push himself upright. He was just in the throws of trying to steady himself when the door to his room opened, and Phillip Martinson marched in.

**XXX**

"Dean! What _are_ you trying to do boy? Here, let's get you sat down again."  
Martinson hurried to Dean's side, slipping one arm around his waist and firmly encouraging Dean to sit, despite Dean's protests.  
"No. You don't get it. Something's wrong out there. Did you see any of the staff?"  
Martinson placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, effectively keeping him sat down.  
"The staff are busy with a patient whom I believe has taken a turn for the worse. It is actually very useful for us, they are less likely to notice us leaving. I have two of my men here to help. We need to get going."

As Martinson spoke, the door opened again and two large and very serious looking men entered the room, one was pushing an empty wheelchair. Dean looked at the chair, then turned to his uncle and shook his head.  
"I'm sorry I've put you to all this trouble, but don't think I should leave yet. I think it'd be best if I hung around for a couple more days, then I'll officially sign myself out against medical advice. They're going to get me sat out and mobilising short distances. I think we should put leaving on hold till we see how that goes. Is that ok?"  
Martinson bowed his head and gave an exasperated sigh before looking up again at Dean. His expression had become cold and forbidding, all pretence of care and concern gone.  
"No, Dean. That will most definitely _**not**_ be alright."

Martinson waved the man with the wheelchair forward.  
"Get him in it."  
Dean shrank back, completely confused at the sudden change in his uncle.  
"Uncle Phillip? I don't understand. What's wrong?"  
As he was speaking, the two heavies each grabbed Dean under his arms, hauling him to his feet and roughly dumping him in the wheelchair. Dean's body reacted by sending intense shooting pains across the wound from his surgery, taking Dean's breath away. Burning bile filled the back of his throat and Dean coughed in response. He immediately cried out as the cough made it feel as though every stitch to the wound on his abdomen had explosively torn itself apart. Sweat formed on Dean's forehead and began to trickle down his face.  
"_Shit..._don't...t hurts!"  
Martinson bent low, putting himself on eye level with Dean.  
"Time for some truth between you and I. First…I am _not_ your frigging uncle. Never was. Never will be. Secondly, you actually have no idea what hurt is yet Winchester, but I promise you this...I am going to make absolutely certain that you find out. _Take him!"_

Despite the situation, Dean found himself desperately wanting to laugh at his uncle's... _Not uncle..._pantomime style threat. He gave himself a mental slap. At least he now knew one thing for sure, his name was Winchester. The thought made something stir, deep down in his sub conscious. That name meant something. As the wheelchair was swiftly pushed onto the ward and towards a door marked Stairs, Dean caught a glimpse of Danny's body laid untidily at the side of the nurse's station. Dean shoved the small matter of his name to one side, he needed to get away from this madman somehow. In desperation he reached down and simultaneously applied the manual breaks to both wheels of the chair.

Dean gasped in response to the sudden jolt which tipped him forward, coming close to spilling him onto the floor. The man pushing cursed as Dean began to yell for help. His colleague appeared in front of Dean.  
"_Shut it_ you little fuckin' turd!"  
He punctuated his directive with a fist to Dean's face. Dean's head slumped forward as he blacked out.

**XXX**

As soon as the lift doors opened Bobby heard the sound of patients calling out and nurse call buzzers going off like crazy, it was clear that something was very seriously wrong. The confirmation came when he spotted a young male nurse sitting on the floor at the nurse's station, he was holding his head and groaning. Three female co-workers were seated at the station, their heads on the desk top and each one of them was seemingly sound asleep. Bobby helped the male up and onto a chair.  
"What happened here lad?"

"I…er…not sure. A relative who's staying over came down, introduced himself. I think I felt tired suddenly…then you're here. Oh crap! D'you think he did something?"  
"Maybe, but right now you need to wake your friends and get some help up here. Which one's Dean's room?"  
The male nurse pointed to a closed door.  
"That one."  
Bobby stood to move toward the room.  
"It was _his_ relative...you know?...the one who came onto the ward."  
Bobby nodded at the nurse,  
"Ok. Now ring down, get help."

Bobby knew before he pushed open the door to Dean's room, but he still checked. anyway.  
"_Shit_…Balls."

**XXX**

Stood leaning against the Impala, Sam was feeling completely wired. He had prepped the back seat of the Impala, turning it into a makeshift bed for Dean and there was now nothing else he could do, except wait. His short sword was at his side, held in place by the belt of his jeans. His gun was at hand in his jacket pocket. From where he stood he had a partial view through the entrance doors and into the main hospital foyer area where the public lifts were located.

Sam instantly straightened up when he saw the doors to one lift open, then slumped again when someone in uniform got out. He began pondering how Bobby might persuade Dean to leave the safety of the hospital with him if Dean couldn't remember who Bobby was. He had got as far as _You're the world champion_ _pie eater and you're going to be late for your challenge match,_ when his phone ring tone startled him.

"Bobby?"  
"Dean's gone."  
"Gone?"  
"Not here...Taken..._Gone_."

**xxxxxxxxXXXxxxxxxxx**

_**A.N. Help, help…..I've adopted a Hell Hound!**_


	18. Chapter 18

**_A.N._**_ Ok, so, I deleted the first version of this__** final**__ chapter and did some more work on it, both for my own sake and in response to a couple of reviews (thanks for the motivation guys – it helped)._

**_THANK YOU EVERYONE for your support and encouragement, it's been great fun walking the journey with you.  
Chick xx_**

_"Out of Control"_

FINAL CHAPTER

**CHAPTER 18**

Fighting to maintain his self control, Sam moved from slumped against the Impala to stood up straight and carrying out a visual scan of the area, looking for anything at all that might qualify as being "off".  
"Any witnesses?"  
"Nah. Nurses were mind zapped, slept through it."  
"Mind zapped?"  
"Hypnotised is my guess. The good news is, it's recent enough they could still be in the building or round about. I'm on my way down to…."  
"Bobby, hang on."

"Well?"  
"There might be something going on down the side of the building. I think I heard a car, I'm heading over to check it out. Don't ring me."  
"Be careful. I'll be there in a couple."

**XXX**

As Martinson opened the emergency exit door, the touch of the cool night air served to rouse Dean and he slowly raised his pounding head as he was wheeled out of the building. Looking ahead, Dean saw a parked Limo, it's engine idling, around fifty yards in front of him. Another man, Dean guessed he was the driver, was stood by the car and holding the back door open. Almost instantly, Dean's body hit fight or flight mode as he recognised that he had to come up with something quickly. He had one primary goal…avoid being put into that car at all costs! Martinson trotted ahead, halting by the Limo and looking over his shoulder at Dean's two escorts.  
"Dump the wheelchair. Let's face it, he's not going to live long enough to need it."

Hearing Martinson, Dean steeled himself and got ready to cause whatever disruption he could, despite harbouring no illusions that his physical condition put his chances of escape somewhere between naught and zero. _Here goes…._

**XXX**

Glock in hand, Sam ran silently across the car park and to the front edifice of the hospital. Hugging the shadows in the lea of the building's wall, the Hunter made his way to where the front aspect ended. Stopping to listen, he heard the definite low purr of a car engine.

Sam risked a brief glance around the corner. The scene he witnessed in that small moment before ducking his head back out of sight, was enough to cause a momentary weakness in his legs and he leant harder up against the wall, using it as a support. It was the first sight of his brother in what felt like an age, and the situation was serious. Sam briefly wondered whether to risk calling Bobby and give him a heads up? He decided not. He wasn't prepared to take the risk of Bobby being somewhere close enough so that the ringing of his cell alerted the men surrounding Dean to their presence. Neither dare he hesitate too long and wait for Bobby to catch up. It had been clear from what he saw that the men were intending to put Dean into the car. A male voice sliced through Sam's thoughts.  
"Dump the wheelchair. Let's face it, he's not going to live long enough to need it."  
Sam was given no choice. He _had_ to act, and fast.

**XXX**

_Please God…anyone. Let there be someone around to hear me.  
_Taking a deep breath, Dean once again reached down and rammed on one of the chair's manual breaks. The affect was to change the chair's forward motion into a sudden turn. As soon as the open emergency exit door swung back into view, Dean launched himself out of the chair, hoping against hope that his legs would hold him. At the same time, he prepared to shout himself hoarse in an attempt to attract help. It didn't quite work out. His sudden movements created a massive jolt of electrifying pain, and the sound that _did_ emerge out of Dean's mouth was more akin to a raw, animal howl of agony.

The adrenaline pumping throughout his body meant Dean managed four whole steps toward the open doorway, before he collapsed to the floor. Despite the hurt, Dean began using his hands and arms to try dragging himself across the tarmac to safety. He didn't hear the shout of the newcomer to the party, drowned out as it was by the groans and whimpers of his own pain and desperation.

**XXX**

Grasping his gun in both hands, Sam stood with his back against the wall and began to give himself an internal count to three. On _two _he heard Dean'sagonised howl, everything else flew out of his mind barring one over-riding thought, _Save Dean. _Raising the Glock, Sam stepped out into the open.  
"**_Stand still! All of you.!_** Hands where I can see them or I _will_ shoot."

There were a couple of seconds in which Sam found himself looking at a frozen tableau where everyone, except Dean, seemed rooted to the spot. Martinson himself was the one to brake the spell. Showing a complete lack of concern, he stared directly at Sam.  
"Kill him."  
Command given, Martinson turned away, paying Sam less attention than he would some miniscule bug. The Necromancer strode across to Dean.

One of the two heavies began to reach inside his jacket. Sam didn't hesitate, and the man screamed as Sam's bullet shattered the upper bone in his gun arm. The impact span the man partially around before he fell to his knees, clutching at his wound. Unwilling to take any chances, Sam readied to fire a second round into the man's other arm, intending to effectively disable the guy.

As Sam took aim, the Limo driver made use of the opportunity afforded by Sam's distraction, and sighted his own pistol at Sam's chest.  
**_"Sam! Down!"  
_**Three shots rang out virtually simultaneously.

**XXX**

Dean's frantic attempts to drag himself to the potential safety offered by the open doorway came to an abrupt end when a heavy weight landed in the middle of his back, effectively pinning him in place and forcing an agonised gasp out of him. Exhausted and dazed with pain, Dean heard Martinson's voice snarling down at him.  
"There's no escape Winchester. Your soul is mine boy, and no frigging heroics by your dickhead brother and his pathetic pop gun are going to save you."  
Lifting his foot off Dean's back, the Necromancer used it to turn Dean over, at the same time he called for help.  
"_Cobey_…Get your useless backside over here _now_ and give me a hand to get this infuriating bastard into the car."  
Martinson turned his head, looking for Cobey, and reeled under the impact of the fist that connected with his nose like a sledgehammer, causing the audible _crunch_ of breaking bone and crushed cartilage.

Martinson's eyes teared in pain as blood promptly began to gush from the pulp which had been his nose. His world suddenly tilted as something swiped across the back of his knees, causing him to smack down onto his butt on the tarmac. There was no gap in which Martinson could gather his thoughts before a rough hand grabbed him under his chin, yanking his head back as the sharp edge of a blade was pressed against his throat. At the same time, Martinson heard the hiss of words directly into his ear.  
_"Desuetudo visio, desuetudo viox, desuetudo actio. __**Dirigo.**__ Desuetudo visio, desuetudo viox, desuetudo actio. __**Dixi**__!"_

Whilst the words were being spat out, the hand holding Martinson's chin let go and, instead, something was pressed against the Necromancer's lips. The blade pushed harder against the Necromancer's throat, breaking the skin and sending him very clear message. Martinson conceded, partially opening his mouth. Something soft and vaguely papery was pushed between his lips, where it immediately began to dissolve in his mouth. _Crap…Rice paper_. Martinson shook his head in denial as the world around him began to fade to black. He tried to speak. Horrified, he heard himself produce little more than an unintelligible whine.

Bobby continued to press his knife against the Necromancer's throat.  
"Now, you little sonofabitch…If you don't want me to dice you up into tiny pieces and bury you in concrete all over this Goddamn country, you'll gimme the control spells. Understand me, _Shitface_?"  
Bobby's own spell left Martinson unable to do more than manage a slight twitch in any of his limbs, instead the Necromancer blinked his understanding and lowered his now sightless eyes down towards the chain of his pocket watch.  
"**_Bobby!_** _Sirens!"_

**XXX**

Sam had Cobey and his wounded colleague sat on the ground back to back and was efficiently cuffing them to one another. Both men had been relieved of their weapons. Sam ignored the whimpering as he yanked on the wounded man's injured arms in order to secure him to Cobey. Satisfied, Sam lifted his head when he heard another, much more worrying, sound that seemed to be getting closer. He glanced at the body of the dead driver. _Crap_.  
Sam called out a warning.  
**"****_Bobby!_**_ Sirens!"_

Bobby straightened up and turned around, the Necromancer's pocket watch in his hand. He frowned when he saw Sam stood, gun held loosely in his hand, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his forehead. Bobby's stomach flipped when he noticed Sam's other hand was pressed against his left side.  
"I hear 'em. You got a problem there?"  
Sam walked over to Bobby, still clasping his side.  
"I'll live."  
A quiet, husky sounding voice interrupted any response Bobby might have made.  
"Please?...Some help here?"

**XXX**

Waylaying any further questions from Bobby, Sam quickly, but nervously, went to his brother, kneeling on the floor by Dean's side.  
"It's ok Dean, I gotcha, you're going to be ok."  
Half shuttered eyes gazed gratefully up at Sam's face, then instantly opened wide. Gratitude and relief were swiftly replaced by fear and desperation.  
"No…I know you! _Get the fuck away from me!"  
_Horrified, Sam reached out his hand in an effort to calm Dean, to try to reassure him, to stop Dean looking at him with those anguished eyes.  
Trepidation flared as Dean saw the guy's large hand reaching for him, and he tried to move away from what he interpreted as the threat of more hurt. Panic sent his breathing hiccupping and hitching and his hands scrabbled around on the floor, trying to find something, _anything_, to defend himself with.

Sam froze, then quickly withdrew his hand. Instead, holding both hands out to his side, palms facing his frantic brother, hoping to show that he meant no harm.  
"Dean, it's ok, stop….Dean, listen…_Please?"  
_Instead, Dean rolled onto his side and began an attempt to raise himself onto all fours. As he did, Sam heard a low mewl and Dean's strength finally gave out. He collapsed face down onto the floor.  
"Oh God…._Dean!"_

**XXX**

On the inside the Necromancer was howling in fury, but he could do nothing at all to stop Bobby pushing him to the ground, turning him onto his front and cuffing his hands behind his back. The spell Bobby used had been vaguely familiar. Martinson knew that some versions could be relatively short lasting, and already he could feel his limbs more. He also thought he could see dark greys amongst the black. Bobby reached down and gave the Necromancer a friendly pat on the shoulder.  
"Now, you be a good little scumbag of a Necromancer and stay putt, y'hear? Oh, and just so's you know, you ain't gonna be talkin' any time soon. Kinda puts the breaks on you casting any nasty little spells, don't it?"  
Were he able, the names Martinson would call him would have made even Bobby blush.

As Bobby crossed to where Sam now sat on the floor, his brother's head cradled on his lap, the first of half a dozen patrol cars rounded the corner and screeched to a halt. Bobby noted the growing patch of fresh blood staining Dean's hospital PJ's. Sam looked up at him, tears already threatening.  
"His stitches. We can't move him now. He needs to go back inside."  
Bobby nodded.  
"Ok kid. You're right…."  
"**_You!_** Hands where I can see them and turn around…**_slowly_****!** I'm armed and I **_will_** shoot if necessary!"  
Bobby smiled down at Sam and gave him a wink before putting his hands on his head and turning to face the numerous weapons, all aimed in his direction

**XXX**

As two cops cautiously began to move forward from the rest, Bobby called out to them.  
"My name's Robert Singer, Sioux Falls Sheriff's Department. I've got ID in my top pocket."  
One of the two cops indicated the ground with his gun.  
_"On your knees."_

Bobby complied with the instruction as the cop approached. Never taking his eyes off Bobby's face, the cop reached forward and pulled an ID from Bobby's pocket. Stepping back again he held the ID up, turning it to catch the light from the hospital windows. He looked from the ID to Bobby and back again, then holstered his weapon and called out to his commanding officer.  
"Sir, ID checks out. Deputy Singer, Sioux Falls."  
Bobby smiled up at the cop from where he was knelt.  
"Ok if I get up now? Damn tarmac's hard on the knees."

The local Sheriff glanced around, quickly taking stock of the situation before giving out orders to his men. Although confused by what the hell had just happened to turn things around, Sam was never the less relieved to hear the Sheriff directing two officers to alert E.R. staff that help was needed.  
_"And tell them to get their assess round here double time!"_

As he strode across to Bobby, the Sheriff held his hand out in greeting.  
"Sheriff Foster…Dave. Have to say, I was none too happy to have an out of towner being Lone Ranger on my turf, but Jodie can be real persuasive."  
Bobby's smile grew wider as he shook the man's hand.  
"Yup, that she can. Glad you're here though. Guess someone called it in?"  
"Gun shots in the hospital grounds? Ward staff seeming like they've been roofied? Yeah. Folks round here get nervous about that kinda thing. So….which of this little lot need arrestin'?"

**XXX**

Still bewildered, it felt to Sam as though things around him had begun to move in a way that he could only think of as _fast forward in slow motion._ He was almost surprised to find himself running alongside a gurney on which Dean lay as a gaggle of E.R. staff rushed his brother back inside the hospital. Samonly came to a halt when a medic stopped him by the expedient method of grabbing one of Sam's arms.  
"Sorry Sam. It is Sam, right? 'Fraid this's as far as you can go. Don't worry. Dean's in good hands. Now, let's get you looked at, ok?"  
Sam turned and looked blankly at the male junior doctor.  
"I'm fine. I don't _need_ looking at."  
Sam followed the medic's gaze, feeling vaguely puzzled to see the left side of his own shirt and jacket stained with blood, and then he remembered.  
"Oh….."

He recalled Bobby shouting out a warning, diving to his right at the same time as he fired his second bullet at the man he was targeting, hearing an echo of his own shot, just before feeling a hot, searing pain in his left side. Within a fraction of a second, there had been a third shot. _The driver. He must've shot me, then Bobby killed him.  
_With the memory came the pain. It cut through the fading adrenaline high that had, until now, kept it at bay. Sam gasped and bent double, cursing.

**XXX**

Bobby was sat waiting for him when Sam was brought up on to the day surgery ward to rest. His wounds had been cleansed, stitched and dressed. Sam was lucky, the bullet had just clipped him, passing straight through fatty tissue and, therefore, not causing any organ damage. Now wearing clean PJ's and happily reaping the benefits of pain control, Sam both looked and felt better than he had in what felt like months.

As soon as he was settled on to a bed, Sam demanded to know whether there was any news on Dean yet? Bobby poured Sam a glass of water and handed it to him before answering.  
"He went back into theatre. They needed to check whether or not there'd been any more internal damage caused before they could fix him up again. Seems he'd taken more hits. They're worrying about possible concussion, so I know they were planning on scans somewhere along the line. I've not heard anything beyond that. Dean's surgeon promised we'd be told right away if there was any…..complications."  
Sam nodded, taking the news on board.  
"What about the Necromancer and his lap dogs? What the Hell happened there Bobby? How come we're not sat in a jail cell…_Deputy _Singer?"  
Bobby raised both eyebrows.

"What? I _told_ you I had a call to make when I went out back at the hotel."  
"So, you rang Sheriff Mills?"  
"Well, yeah. Gave her the run down. I figured we might need professional back up, you know, in case things….went tits up. At least make sure the Necromancer's uncle act could be blown apart. Thought it might help Dean. Anyway, we concocted a story about my nephew being taken, payback for me getting some drug dealer's son locked away. Then we supposedly hear about this unknown victim, so she sends me here on the quiet to check if their Dean is _our_ Dean."  
"You and Jodie? Ok, so…where do_ I_ fit in?"  
"Easy! We just decided to be bendy with the truth. You're his brother, you came with me, your name's Sam Singer. Jodie's job was to keep the local force off our backs, in a nice _one cop to another_ kinda way, persuadin' them to stay out, let us monitor the situation in the hopes our imaginary main bad guy would show up. She was goin' to sell 'em the theory that probably Dean wasn't supposed to survive the beatin', fake uncle likely then turned up at the hospital to finish him when he got the chance, but maybe the amnesia changed things."

Sam shook his head at Bobby.  
"And you never thought to mention to me that you'd rung Jodie? It might've helped, you know? If I'd known there was a back up plan. I can't believe you didn't say anything. I really can't!"  
Bobby had the good grace to look embarrassed.  
"I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant to keep you in the dark. I guess I got distracted by that web site and then looking for a way to get your memory back. I didn't give it much thought after that, not till the Sheriff turned up. I _am _sorry Sam and you've a right to be pissed."  
Sam sighed.  
"Ok…..So, where's the Necromancer now?"  
"Arrested and held in police custody."

Bobby didn't miss the look that crossed the younger Hunter's face before Sam turned away from him. Sam stared in the direction of the window, not really focusing on the view as he contemplated this piece of information.  
"I'm sorry son, but I could hardly shoot him or whatever with all those damn cops around, could I?"  
Sam turned his gaze back to Bobby. It was obvious from Sam's expression and the set of his jaw that Sam was frustrated by this turn of events.  
"No….I guess you couldn't. So. What the Hell _are_ we going to do about him?"  
Bobby shrugged his shoulders.  
"Not a fat lot we_ can_ do just yet, but at least he's contained. I'll sort something. I will."  
Sam said nothing and, for a while, the silence hung between them.

Eventually Bobby cleared his throat. Sam knew the man well enough to know when Bobby was about to announce something _else_ he probably didn't want to hear right now.  
_"What?"  
_Bobby looked at Sam, trying and failing to paste an innocent expression onto his face.  
"Huh? What makes you think I was going to say somethin'? Can't a man just need to cough?"  
Sam rolled his eyes.  
"Ok. Well…it's just. We still gotta get Dean his memories back and….as I recall, it wasn't exactly a party when _you_ went through it. I got what we need off that bastard Necromancer, but…"  
"But what? There's no but! It _has_ to be done Bobby!"  
"Idjit boy!"

Bobby stood up and began a back and forth pace at Sam's bedside.  
"_Course_ we have to do it. What I mean is, you're his brother. So, I figure it's down to you. _You_ need to decide the when, especially with the state he's in. I mean, physically."  
Sam lowered his head.  
"Oh…I see….Crap."

It was right then that an older man popped his smiling face into the double bay.  
"Either of you two gents like a hot drink? I got coffee, I got tea, or, I can do you a mean hot chocolate. What's it to be?"  
Bobby returned the man's smile.  
"You've got some good timin' there friend. I'd appreciate a coffee, just as it comes."  
The man noted Bobby's order down in a small jotter, then gazed at Sam.  
"Now, youngster. Tempted? Wanna try my special recipe hot chocolate? _Guaranteed_ to help you relax and sleep like a babe."  
Sam was about to refuse, then changed his mind at the old guy's nod of encouragement. Sam gave the man a slow smile.  
"I'll have tea. Thanks…very much."  
The man gave Sam a broad wink.  
"Comin' right up!"

**XXX**

Sam groaned as Bobby appeared around the corner of the bay pushing an empty wheelchair ahead of him.  
"Bobby! Please?"  
Bobby chuckled.  
"Sorry son. Hospital policy. No wheelchair, no go see big brother. Well?"

Although Sam was extremely tall for the sulky six year old look, Bobby thought he carried it off rather well as Sam reluctantly plopped down into the wheelchair. Bobby ruffled the top of his head.  
"Comfy?"  
Sam shrugged his head from under Bobby's hand irritably.  
"Just drive, will you?"  
Bobby leaned over until he was level with Sam's ear.  
"Aww. Wittle sunshine boy all gwumpy wumpy?"  
Sam tried not to smile at Bobby's baby speak.  
"Jerk"  
"Jackass."

Sam began to have second thoughts as the pair neared the double doors leading in to the Intensive Care Unit.  
"Bobby, hold on a sec."  
Bobby drew to a halt and moved into Sam's line of sight.  
"What's up kid?"  
"I….What if?...I'm just not sure anymore."  
Bobby nodded.  
"I get that. But, if it helps, I think you're right. The effect of lifting the spell _will_ be less if we do it while he's still under."  
"But, what if I'm wrong? What if he still has a major seizure?"  
"Then, I guess he's in the best place to get help."

Sam sat quietly for a moment whilst Bobby waited patiently. Finally Sam looked determinedly at the ICU entrance.  
"Ok….Let's do it.

**XXX**

The nurse lead them into Dean's room, leaving again with a hushed "Call me if you need anything." At last, Sam and Bobby were alone with Dean. The wheelchair having been left outside the room, Sam hesitantly moved to Dean's bedside. His vision immediately blurred and Sam had to blink hard a few times as he stared at his older brother, who seemed to be trapped in a maze of tubes, stands and monitors. What Sam _could_ see of Dean's face was almost covered in dark, mottled purple bruising. One hugely swollen eyelid gave Dean a lopsided appearance. Fine flakes of dried blood crusted his eyebrow below the line of stitches to the gash in his forehead. Most of his top lip was swollen around a tender looking split. Sam's gaze landed on the finger bruising around Dean's throat, and Sam's hands curled into fists. He forced himself to track the injuries he could see, noting scrapes and grazes around Dean's shoulders, travelling down to where yet more large areas of bruising overlaid Deans rib area, and to the fresh clean dressing covering the surgical wound to his abdomen where, yet again, the evidence of Sam's own assault on his brother mocked him. Finally, Sam noticed the dressings on both of Dean's hands and the areas of Dean's bare forearms that were raw, angry red and criss-crossed with long scrape marks caused by Dean's attempts to drag himself away from danger.

Sam's mouth filled with saliva and he realised he was about to vomit. Turning, he unsteadily headed for the room's small sink unit and wash basin. Knocking on the cold water tap, he began to throw water onto his face as he took deep breaths, trying to quell the nausea. He felt the weight of a hand settle onto his shoulder.  
"Hey."  
Looking into the over sink mirror, Sam met the reflection of Bobby standing right behind him and, beyond Bobby, he could see Dean, his eyes still closed, unaware of Sam and Bobby's presence.  
"Sam. He's gonna be ok. You _do_ know that, right?"  
Sam continued staring into the mirror as Bobby pulled a gold pocket watch from his trouser pocket and opened it. Nestled inside were three small, round scraps of paper, each one covered in script. Bobby kept his eyes averted from Sam's.  
"I need to do this now, while he's out of it. I'm going to lift the Forget on Dean, then I'll break the controls on both of you. You'd best sit down son. Just in case."

Sat in the room's only armchair, Sam continued to stare at his brother whilst Bobby prepared himself, only turning away when Bobby reached out to mark Dean's forehead. In a low voice, Bobby muttered the counter spell, then he and Sam both held their breaths. After a couple of seconds Dean's whole body twitched twice, his breathing stuttered and the heart monitor flickered momentarily before settling again. Sam and Bobby continued waiting, until they were both satisfied that there was going to be no more reaction from Dean.  
Bobby turned to Sam, a smile on his face and tears in his eyes.  
"You were right, boy."  
Sam gave a slight nod, but refused to allow himself to relax just yet.  
"Get rid of the controls."

It was a major relief for both Sam and Bobby when the effect of the control dissipating simply felt like a brief surge of vertigo, followed by the realisation that for the period that the spell had exerted it's influence, Sam's mind had been functioning as if smothered in a layer of cotton wool. It was only when his cognition and functioning suddenly felt so much sharper and clearer, that the impact became evident. Sam slumped back in the chair, exhaustion taking over, his eyes closed and almost instantly he was asleep. Bobby's own body cried out for sleep, but he had two boys to look out for. He wandered out of the room on a quest to track down a chair, a sympathetic nurse, and a coffee.

**XXX**

_Something's wrong. Sam's still here, what's he doing outside? There's someone behind him, he's moving closer, he's doing something. What the Hell? Sam…behind you! Sam! Why doesn't he listen? Why doesn't…Fuck! Sam? Why? Sammy…..No. Sammy…please….can't defend….What've you done to us? Sammy…hurts…can't…breath….no…please, please…_

Dean jolted awake, then immediately squeezed his eyes.._Eye?..._closed again at the unexpected daylight. A myriad of thoughts and memories swarmed over him, almost taking his breath away with the speed at which they piled in. Amongst them all, he recognised the figure he had seen standing behind his brother. The man who had claimed he was Dean's uncle. Dean's one good eye flew open again and flicked around the room, looking for him. Instead, his gaze landed on his brother, fast asleep sprawled out in a less than comfortable armchair. He looked pale, dark circles stood out under his eyes and his hair was in chaos. Dean smiled. A quiet voice coming from the side on which Dean's eyes was still swollen and closed startled Dean.  
"Hello son."  
Dean turned his head, and his smile returned at the familiar sight of Bobby.  
"It's ok Dean…You're safe now. Do you know who I am?"  
Dean's smile grew wider.  
"Bobby."  
"Yeah, Bobby. It's good to have you back with us son."

Dean turned to look at his sleeping brother again.  
"Sam?"  
"He'll be ok."  
"He looks….crap."  
"He got hurt, but it's fine. He's nervous though, thinks you won't want him around."  
Dean frowned and shook his head.  
"Not his fault. I remember…..everything. A man….."  
"Martinson. Seems you've got fans amongst the Necromancer brotherhood. He double wammied you both, had you bound with a control and forget combination. Nasty one."  
Dean looked back at Bobby.  
"Is he dead?"  
Bobby didn't answer, Dean gave a nod of understanding.  
"Ok…"

Sam shifted and muttered in his sleep, attracting Dean's attention. Dean grinned.  
"S'cute….look, he's dribbling."  
Bobby mock scowled  
"Gross. Want me to wake him?"  
"I'll do it. Hand me that towel."

The towel landed draped over Sam's head, creating an instant response as Sam went from sleep to awake with a yelp, hands flapping at the thing on his head, throwing it to the floor, then looking around in confusion.  
"It's to wipe the drool off."  
Sam froze momentarily at the sound of the voice, before spinning his head to stare at the source.  
"You're awake! Dean! You…..Oh God…you're awake!"  
Dean smiled happily again.  
"You don't say! You gonna get me a glass of water, bitch?"  
Sam looked flustered.  
"Wha..? Oh…yes…yeah…here."

Sam hurriedly poured Dean a drink, his hands shaking, and moved to his brother's side, raising Dean's head and holding the glass for Dean. As Dean drank, his gaze stayed firmly on Sam's face. Glass empty, Sam put it down carefully next to the water jug. For a few seconds he kept his fingers rested on the rim of the glass and stared at it. Dean glanced over to where Bobby still sat. Bobby nodded and stood up, stretching.  
"I'm gonna go grab a coffee down in the canteen. You two behave while I'm gone. I'll bring you one back Sam."  
Sam looked around at Bobby,  
"Er…yeah. Ok, thanks Bobby."

They waited until the door closed after the older man, then Sam turned back to Dean. Before he could take a breath to speak, Dean had a finger held up to Sam's face.  
"_Don't._ I know what happened. I was there, so lets just skip to the part where you agree, it's not your fault."  
As Sam opened his mouth to protest, Dean grabbed his brother's hand.  
"Sammy…please?"  
Sam looked down at Dean in silence. Hard as he searched, he could see no blame, no anger at all in his older brother's eyes, just his plea for Sam not to shoulder the guilt, to let it go. Closing his own eyes, Sam sighed and gave a small nod of consent, feeling Dean squeeze his hand tighter before letting go.

Opening his eyes again, Sam sat himself down carefully on the edge of Dean's bed.  
"We didn't get to finish him Dean, the Necromancer. The police turned up."  
"I know. But hey…the little bastard didn't get to finish _me_ either! Personally I think that's a score for the good guys."  
Sam smiled.  
"Yeah, I guess it is."  
"So…what _did_ happen to him?"  
"Would you believe he was arrested?"  
"You're kiddin'! ... Sam, the cops…I'm guessin' they don't know what they've got? The man's a damn Necromancer Sammy, they're not goin' to be able to hold him!"

Sam quickly placed a hand on Dean's chest and _hushed_ him.  
"Dean, relax. It's ok, really. Bobby has Martinson…well, the phrase Bobby used was _neutered_. He slapped some kind of magic muzzle on the guy. While ever it holds, Martinson is near enough mute. He can't throw spells around if he can't speak, can he? Anyway, give it an hour roughly and he'll be heading for Sioux Falls. Jodie's arranged to have him transferred over to her, she knows the score. Between them her and Bobby'll keep the little creep contained till you decide what we do with him."  
"Jod….Sheriff Mills? No….Get Bobby back up here, _please _Sammy. I've spent time with this guy. He's probably not so high up the ladder as that bastard in Tennessee, but I'd lay odds there's tricks he knows that don't need words!"

**EPILOGUE**

Sat alone in a cell containing a cot bed, a stainless steel toilet and a small hand sink, Martinson stared down at the bowl of thick porridge in his hand with disgust. In the next cell, despite Cobey's hunger, his own breakfast stood untouched on his tray. He was finding even the mug of hot, sweet coffee hard to swallow. Since their arrival, Martinson hadn't spoken one word to Cobey, he had simply sat staring at him, only averting his steady gaze when the cop brought their breakfasts and told them they were due for transfer to somewhere called Sioux Falls.

Cobey was terrified. He knew what his boss was, he'd seen the kind of things the Necromancer was capable of, the guy was pure psycho. Cobey shivered. He wasn't the type to delude himself, he held no hope about his chances of making it to Sioux Falls alive. From the moment things had gone arse up back at the hospital, he knew he was finished. He was already sitting on death row, a condemned man with no chance of reprieve. Cobey finally gave up trying to drink his coffee, fighting to keep down what little he'd already had.

Martinson suddenly slammed his bowl back down on to the metal tray. Cobey flinched. He didn't daring meet the man's eyes and he determinedly kept his head lowered. He heard the creak of Martinson's cot as the Necromancer shifted his position. _Is this it? That sonovabitch gonna kill me right here, right now? Fuck!_

Martinson shuffled around on the edge of the cot until he had made himself as comfortable as he could manage. The indignity, sitting in this piss hole of a town jail cell as though he was some common criminal? Preparing to be shipped to another shit eating town like a pig for slaughter? Just one more thing to add to his list of annoyances that the Winchesters and that man Singer were responsible for. Did these idiot cops_ really_ think they could just bundle him off nice and easy to another cell in another town? Well, they would learn soon enough. He had some business to take care of, and he'd be starting with that cretin Cobey.

Closing his eyes, Martinson began to centre himself. His entire focus switched to his own breathing. Eventually, each breath grew deeper than the last. Each intake of air become less and less frequent. In time, the beating of his heart began to slow down too, every beat gradually falling into sync with his breathing. Going deeper into his self induced trance, the Necromancer didn't hear Cobey's panic stricken whimper, or his screams for someone to get him out of there. He didn't hear the two cops come running _What the fuck?_ What he _did_ here was the door to his cell being unlocked, along with the worried _Get in there an' check on him_. He _did_ feel the hand of the cop who grasped his shoulder and shook him. And now he heard Cobey's frantic cries, desperately trying to warn the pair. A smile crept slowly onto the Necromancer's face, and his eyes flew open…

**FIN**

_A.N. And there we leave it! I decided __**not**__ to go for the nice neat bad guy dead, happy ever after ending this time around, __**;P**__ although I'll definitely __**not **__be picking this character up again. Two Necromancer stories is enough!_

_My grateful thanks to anyone who has stuck with this until the end.  
Any feedback obviously appreciated._

_Until next time._

**_Chick xx_**


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